


Fifth House

by Just_Ky



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, HP: EWE, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Multi, Threesome, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voyeurism, Weird Plot Shit, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-02-27 03:36:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 106,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2677538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Ky/pseuds/Just_Ky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter was quite honest when he informed Dumbledore’s portrait he intended to get rid of the Elder Wand. But what if he’d had to use it one last time? Would the Wand of Destiny change the Savior… or save him at last?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Healing the Wizarding World

**Author's Note:**

> I am finally transferring this story over here. Bare with me while I figure out posting on AO3. LOL!

** Chapter 1 — Healing the Wizarding World **

Life after the war was nothing like Harry Potter imagined it would be. Not that he’d imagined it very well. It was a luxury he didn’t often allow himself. Despite what some of his surlier professors believed, Harry wasn’t ignorant. He had every expectation of dying during the final battle. However, he’d also lived with the assumption of death being a permanent thing.

Thus, he had to now learn what a post-Voldemort Wizarding World was truly like. Even worse, he was expected to help rebuild the damn thing.

The few times he’d allowed himself to dream of life after the war, he’d been horribly naive. For starters, he’d unrealistically hoped people would leave him alone once he’d done his part and offed the bastard. If anything, the crowds and acclaim became ten times worse. Which he really should’ve realized would happen. Since he had not, it irritated him to no end and he spent quite a bit of time directly after the battle hiding at Hogwarts.

During his retreat, Harry realized he was - despite all he’d been through - still rather immature. In a world where broken bones could be regrown by a potion or cuts mended with a spell, he’d hopelessly thought the entire world could be easily healed from the trauma of war. He was, of course, mistaken. Hogwarts was destroyed, the Ministry in shambles, and far too many people were not fortunate enough to come back from being dead. Much work needed to be done to fix their world, and everyone assumed the Boy-who-Lived was going to be the one to do it. Harry, though, just wanted to hide his head in the sand and pretend it never happened. If nothing else, he wanted a chance to lick his wounds in peace.

It was Hermione who suggested he immediately release a single press statement. In the speech she’d written for him, Harry spoke little of what happened during the final days of war. Instead, he talked of what needed to be done now to fix what Tom Riddle had broken. Then, in a move that angered many a reporter, Harry said the Boy-who-Lived would be making no further statements until after he’d given his testimony before the Wizengamot. Since there still wasn’t a Wizengamot, it bought Harry time, at least, if not peace. Half the Wizarding World’s reporters were camped in Hogsmeade hoping for a word from their Savior.

During his seclusion, Harry spent time talking to Dumbledore’s portrait about some of what had happened, skirting the painful issues carefully. It helped to heal some of their relationship, though it did little to help Harry deal with some of the more painful decisions the Headmaster had made for him. It was during this time that Harry learned he was not the only Gryffindor with Slytherin tendencies.

Minerva McGonagall, his Head of House, was the first to display she had a rather shrewd and cunning persona she kept hidden. “Potter,” she said one day while they were having tea, “the Wizarding World is in your debt.”

Harry cringed, as he did anytime the words ‘debt’ or ‘hero’ or ‘Savior’ were used. “I only did what I had to, Professor,” he grumbled.

“Be that as it may, Potter, you might want to consider what you wish for as a reward.”

Harry had been flabbergasted and more than a little appalled.

It was Hermione, though, who later explained the statement to him. It still went against his Gryffindor nature but at least now he understood. “She doesn’t mean you are going to be _paid_ ,” she explained patiently, laughing slightly at her disgruntled friend. “But you are currently in everyone’s favor. It is doubtful _anyone_ would deny a request from the Boy-who-Conquered at the moment. Professor McGonagall is merely suggesting you consider what you would like to happen with our World so you can use your reputation for the good of all of us.”

Harry personally thought he’d already done enough ‘for the greater good,’ but he did understand what Hermione was saying. Ron, as usual, had less than helpful suggestions. As Harry doubted he really wanted to work for the Ministry, even once it was rebuilt and hopefully corruption free, the request for early admission into Auror training interested him little. He also didn’t want a job based only on his fame, so there was no way he was going to ask for an automatic pass on all his NEWTs. The last suggestion so appalled Hermione that his studious friend spent the next hour arguing with Ron while Harry got a chance to actually think about what he did want.

His first request was easy to decide upon, though he didn’t doubt it would be difficult to achieve. He wanted a full pardon for Severus Snape. Harry had saved the life of the Death Eater spy, but he wanted to make sure he didn’t lose his freedom after-the-fact. More importantly, he wanted the world to know Snape as the hero he truly was. After the last war, Dumbledore had assured Snape’s freedom, but done little to clear the man’s name. Snape was still reviled by many and barely tolerated by most. In Harry’s opinion, Snape had atoned for his mistakes and deserved the people’s respect. 

The other thing he wanted was going to be even more difficult, and he doubted he had a chance of succeeding. However, he had to at least try. He’d spoken to Ron and Hermione about it, briefly, right after the final battle. They’d understood his reasoning, though they both thought he was barking. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a clue how to go about doing it. With that in mind, he made his way up to the Headmaster’s office. McGonagall wasn’t in; she and Madame Pomfrey spent quite a bit of time in the safe house they’d moved Snape to. Harry simply let himself into her office as she’d given him permission to do so. He seated himself in the chair behind the large oak desk, turning it to face Dumbledore’s portrait.

“I need your advice, sir,” he said without preamble.

“Of course, my boy! What seems to be the trouble?”

“I want to redeem the Malfoys.”

For a moment, the painted wizard looked completely stunned. Then, a small smile formed, almost hidden in his beard. The blue paint chips of his eyes started to twinkle.

****

*************

Lucius Malfoy looked terrible. There was really no other way to describe his haggard appearance. His long, pale hair was dirty, tangled and lank. His face was smudged, and there appeared to be fading bruises under the dirt. It was easy to tell, through the grimy prisoner uniform, that he’d dropped a significant amount of weight. All in all, it made Harry even more eager to save the man’s family. However, he tried to hide his concern. Dumbledore suggested Harry needed to think like a Slytherin if he wanted the man’s respect.

The room the guards were letting Harry use was cold and dank. It gave him the shivers and terrified him, though he knew it was only a residual affect left over from the Dementors. Azkaban was completely run by a human (or mostly human) staff now. Still, though, he knew any amount of time in here would be hellish.

Lucius was bound when they led him in. Hands and feet bracketed with heavy metal shackles, movement limited by the chains connecting them. Still, the guard looked hesitant about leaving Harry alone with the Death Eater. Harry wondered what they thought he could do. The new enchantments on the prison bound the magic of those inside it (including Harry and the guards.) It was a protective measure put in place to prevent people escaping, like Sirius or Barty Crouch Jr.

Lucius lowered himself into the rickety chair with a slight grimace of pain. Other than the momentary flinch, his face was completely devoid of expression. “Mr. Potter,” he greeted Harry. His voice was scratchy and cracked. He sounded, and looked, nothing like his normal aristocratic self. He hadn’t even looked this bad when he was being held prisoner in the Manor by Voldemort. Harry’s plan of cool treatment vanished in a flash of empathy. When the steely eyes studying him hardened, though, Harry realized the pity was difficult for the proud man to deal with. He tried to force his face into a calm, almost bored, expression.

“Lucius,” he greeted cordially. “Are they treating you well?”

The harsh, bitter laugh was somewhat expected, but Harry still flinched at the grating sound. “Are they treating me well, Mr. Potter?” Lucius said, sounding almost amused by the naivete of the question. “What do you think, boy?”

Harry grit his teeth. He hated to be called ‘boy.’ It reminded him of Uncle Vernon. For a moment, his sympathy vanished. “I think part of you would prefer the Dementors,” he said coldly. “That way you wouldn’t have to see the derision of your fellow wizards. I think you truly know how far the Malfoys have fallen.”

For a second, Harry thought Lucius was going to test the binding on his magic so he could hex Harry. For the first time since he’d sat down, emotion flashed across Lucius’ features. It looked rather like hatred to Harry. “Come to gloat, have you, Mr. Potter?” he snarled.

“Not at all,” Harry said. He fidgeted in his chair, struggling to keep his temper leashed and his heart-rate even. He knew, in some part of his brain, he needn’t fear the man any longer. That part was being remarkably silent. The part screaming ‘ _run!_ ’ was infinitely louder. Carefully, he pulled a scroll from his pocket and tossed it on the table in front of Lucius. He hoped his nervousness wasn’t as palpable as it felt.

The Death Eater had some difficulty picking up the scroll and unsealing it because of his heavy chains. Harry took it upon himself to inform Lucius of what it said.

“By decree of Kingsley Shacklebolt, Interim Minister of Magic, all Malfoy assets, including Malfoy Manor, are frozen pending verdict by the Wizengamot. Lucius and Draco Malfoy are released from Azkaban into the care of Harry Potter, and/or any member of the Order of the Phoenix designated for the assignment by Harry Potter, pending verdict by the Wizengamot. All charges against Narcissa Black Malfoy are henceforth dropped and she is released from Azkaban on her own recognizance.” Harry paused before adding, “I will be taking you and Draco to Order Headquarters. Narcissa is welcome to join us.”

“You did this.” It was more a statement than question, but Harry still nodded. “Why?” Lucius sounded both curious and confused.

“I have my reasons,” Harry said vaguely.

Grey eyes narrowed in the dirt streaked face. “What is it you want from me, Mr. Potter?”

“I want your help, Lucius.” Harry allowed a small smirk to twist his lips, even though he knew it was ineffectual. The man in front of him was a consummate Slytherin; he doubted he had much in the way of intimidation factor helping him. 

“Why do you believe I should help _you_?” Lucius asked, proving Harry was right; he wasn’t intimidated in the least.

“Your Master is dead, Lucius. I killed him.” The words made him feel sick. He knew he was a murderer, and hated that everyone celebrated him for it. Here was one man who wouldn’t and Harry was shoving it in his face anyway. 

Lucius leaned back in his chair, chains rattling as he steepled his fingers. “I’m listening,” he drawled, sounding a bit more like his former self.

“I need… an advisor. Some one to help me deal with the press. With the Wizengamot. I believe you’d be perfect for the task. Though make no mistake, Malfoy, I won’t deal with your crap or you working your own agenda,” Harry warned with a glare. “However, _if_ you help me to my satisfaction, I will do what I can to keep you and Draco out of Azkaban.”

He held his breath, waiting. It seemed forever until Lucius gave a slow nod. Relieved, Harry exhaled quietly.

****

*************

“You still aren’t sleeping, are you Harry?” Hermione asked, sitting down at the kitchen table in the basement of Grimmauld Place.

“It’s getting better,” he said with a shrug.

“I don’t see how. We all know how much you hate this place. Ron thinks you should come stay at the Burrow for awhile.”

Harry hoped the panic the words inspired didn’t show on his face. He’d only been around all the Weasleys a handful of times since the final battle. It was horribly awkward. Molly was crying constantly, while George looked as if he didn’t have any tears left. Percy kept insisting, loudly and adamantly, that Harry had nothing to feel guilty about because none of it was his fault. All the while, he’d be looking at Harry as if the blame lay solely at the feet of the Boy-who-Lived. On top of all that, Ginny kept trying to cuddle or snog. As if Harry could possibly be in the mood with everything else going on!

It was a fiasco, every time. Inevitably, Harry’s nightmares would be worse when he came back to Grimmauld. He’d see Molly trying to banish her boggart. It would change from corpse to corpse. Each would open their eyes and tell him how he’d ruined their lives before falling dead until Molly cast _Riddikulus_. Then, the boggart would shift to some one else Harry’d gotten killed.

“I can’t go to the Burrow, ‘Mione,” he said apologetically. “You know that. I have to stay here and watch over the Malfoys.” It was a lie he’d fallen back on often since he’d moved into Sirius’ old house.

“It isn’t healthy, Harry,” Hermione lectured. “You need to get out once in awhile. _They_ are the prisoners here, not you.”

“Kingsley’s coming by for lunch tomorrow. I’ll see if he can babysit for a few hours while I run to Hogwarts.”

Hermione frowned, lips pursed in disapproval. “Kingsley is Interim Minister of Magic. I don’t think it a good idea to let him be alone with Lucius Malfoy.”

“Then tell that to Kingsley,” Harry snapped. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his anger which flared up constantly these days. “You worry too much,” he said, much more gently. “Lucius wouldn’t try anything here.”

“You don’t actually _trust_ them, do you?”

Harry gave an amused snort. “Of course not. But until I testify for them, they won’t do anything to jeopardize their only chance of staying out of Azkaban.”

Hermione looked at Harry as if she didn’t quite believe him.

****

*************

It was not uncommon for Harry to wake screaming. Afterward, he lay panting, trying to control his racing heartbeat. He was calmed by cool, gentle fingers brushing across his hair. He sank back into the bed, relaxed by the soothing hand, and tried to regulate his breathing. A quiet, melodious voice softly lulled him back to sleep.

He’d heard Aunt Petunia sing Dudley a lullaby before; a song about buying him gifts until he shut up and stopped crying. It seemed like the perfect song for a Malfoy, though it was most likely Muggle. The gentle voice singing to him spoke of enchanted things, of faeries and magic that would keep him safe and protect him in his dreams. As he fell into a peaceful slumber, a small smile on his lips, he wondered if there was a spell woven into the words of the song.

The next morning, neither Lucius nor Draco taunted him about his screams. Narcissa gave him his morning tea with a worried smile. He wanted, so badly, to throw himself into her arms and be comforted as he had the night before. To recapture the feeling of having a real mother.

Instead, he gave a tired whisper of thanks and hoped she knew what he really meant.

****

*************

“I don’t understand how all those people fawning over you didn’t drive you mad years ago, Harry.”

Harry gave an amused snort at the deep, lilting voice and automatically grabbed a second tea cup from the cupboard he was already reaching into. “Don’t you know? According to the Prophet, Kingsley, they did.” He turning to look at the large, impeccably dressed wizard. “Don’t you _like_ your adoring fans, Minister?” He laughed at the disgruntled look on Kingsley Shacklebolt’s face before offering lunch. He knew the answer would be no; this wasn’t the first time the Interim Minister had stopped by Grimmauld Place. Sometimes Harry thought he came by because he knew the house would be mostly empty. The _Fidelius_ Charm was still active, and he needed a place to hide for a few hours. Especially since he tended to come by after a particularly trying day.

“Just some tea, thanks. And I told you to stop calling me Minister.”

Harry grinned at the expected retort. “Rough day already?” he asked, fixing Kingsley his tea as he liked it and joining him at the table. “Masses out en masse today?”

“Press conference,” Kingsley answered. “First of many, I’m certain. But, tomorrow’s headlines should be filled with quotes about another great hero of the war.”

“Snape,” Harry said with certainty. Kingsley knew how Harry felt. He’d agreed to help him both with Snape’s pardon and with redeeming the Malfoys as much as possible. “Snape’s going to hate it, isn’t he?” he said with a smirk. He shared a conspiratorial grin with the Minister.

“Poor bastard,” Kingsley responded, his rich chuckle filling the kitchen. “We may be doing the man a disservice. I imagine Severus would be much happier with a pardon and disappearing into obscurity.”

“Not going to happen,” Harry declared firmly. “Besides, it’ll take some of the spotlight off of us.”

“One can only hope.” For a brief moment, Kingsley looked wistful. Harry had to fight a grin. The dark-skinned man had only been dealing with the fawning crowd for the months since the war, while Harry had years of excessive fame to deal with.

After the Battle at Hogwarts, Harry learned Kingsley was the one who’d kept the Order of the Phoenix going in seclusion. Kingsley had not only warned the Burrow of the Death Eaters attacking the Ministry, but had evacuated as many civilians and Aurors as he could and took them all to a secret location. He had even been the one to start Lee Jordan’s pirate broadcast as a means of keeping Harry informed while on the run. The Prophet called the resistance the Phoenix Underground. As its leader, Kingsley was being heralded as a hero and hounded almost as much as Harry.

Kingley hated it all. However, like Harry, he put up with it for the good of the Wizarding World.

Dumbedore once told Harry that the only people who truly deserved power were those who had no wish for it. Kingsley certainly fell into that category. It was part of the reason he made a brilliant Minister of Magic. Harry, though, knew many of his complaints were just bluster. Kingsley loved the politics.

“The Wizengamot is going to convene for the first time next week, Harry,” he said into the silence which had descended over the kitchen.

“So it begins,” the younger wizard replied with trepidation.

“I’m afraid so. One of the first motions I will push for is in regards to your testimony. I’m going to make sure it is given only to a closed court and that the Wizengamot is under a Vow of Silence.”

“I appreciate it, Kingsley, but I don’t think it will pass unless you actually tell them of the Horcurxes.”

“I might. _After_ the Vow of Silence is taken. For now, I believe we should use Granger’s story of what you were searching for. It will work on several different levels. However, I do have a few tricks up my sleeve, Harry. There are known instances involving you during the war that create security issues for our World.”

“Gringott’s,” Harry said bluntly. “I robbed a bank which was largely believed to be unrobbable.”

“That, and you know how to break out of Azkaban.”

“Only if the Dementors were still there.”

“I plan on leaving that little detail out,” Kingsley said, a smile lifting the corner of his full lips.

“Will Snape’s trial be first?”

“Yes.”

“Then the Malfoys?”

“Actually, I’m hoping to have their trial date set late. I don’t want you losing any leverage on your house guests.”

“Makes sense.” Harry shrugged. “Don’t think Lucius will like it much.”

“I’m sure Lucius expects it. Speaking of Lucius,” Kingsley rose and put his tea cup into the sink, “he is waiting for me. I will be in the Library when you return from Hogwarts.”

“Thanks, Kings.”

“Next week we can begin writing your press statements, so you might want to ask Granger to come by as well.”

“Sure thing.” Harry watched Kingsley vanish up the stairs into the main part of the house. He had no idea what the Interim Minister discussed with Malfoy every time he visited. Frankly, he didn’t want to know. He carefully washed both cups, much to the annoyance of Kreacher, before disapparating to Hogsmeade.

****

*************

“I do not believe Professor Snape is yet up to entertaining guests, Mr. Potter,” the Hogwarts nurse said as she bustled around the Infirmary.

“I just want to thank him,” Harry said desperately.

“So you’ve said. Every time you’ve spoken to me. My answer is still no, Harry. I’m not certain you understand the magnitude of his injuries. Your spells stabilized him, most likely they saved his life. But he was still grievously injured. He needs complete isolation for his healing. If nothing else, to ensure he does not lose his temper unduly.”

Harry grinned at the last statement. Snape had almost torn his throat out again yelling at Harry before he got the man to the Infirmary. Madame Pomfrey was wrong about one thing, though. Harry _did_ understand how seriously Snape was hurt. Harry _hadn’t_ saved his life. He’d been rather dead by the time Harry made his way back to the Shrieking Shack. As Harry had already proven himself, death was not necessarily a permanent state. Not when one held the Deathly Hallows. Not with Harry being Master of Death.

He wanted to know how Snape was handling his resurrection. Even with his throat ripped to shreds, the dour man had scolded Harry when first brought back from the dead. Harry had been almost thankful when Snape fell unconscious after screaming at him for a few minutes.

Since then, Harry had not seen him. Pomfrey and McGonagall spirited him away to a safe house and would tell no one of its location. They wouldn’t even let Harry visit. McGonagall returned the vial of memories to Snape after both she and Kingsley viewed them. Harry hated parting with the precious gift, but they were private and belonged to Snape. 

Harry was deep in thought as he made his way through the castle. He barely noticed the rubble that had been cleared away, or the goblins working to reinforce the damaged walls. The castle wouldn’t be ready for classes to begin in September, for which Harry was a bit thankful. As much as he looked forward to returning to the only place he’d ever thought of as home, he still had much to do with the Death Eater trials about to begin.

The gargoyle was still unrepaired, so Harry made his way up the spiral staircase. He knocked politely, though McGonagall told him previously he could use her office whenever he wished. “Mr. Potter,” the Headmistress greeted before smiling slightly. “Harry,” she corrected, voice a touch warmer.

“Headmistress.” For some reason the response made McGonagall cringe. Harry’s thoughts abruptly scattered. “Is everything all right?” he asked instead of what he was originally going to say.

“Everything is fine, Mr. Potter,” she said. Her tired expression belied her words.

“I believe you should tell him, Minerva,” Dumbledore’s portrait advised.

“Honestly, Albus. There is no reason to involve Harry in this.”

Harry fidgeted in his chair, torn between curiosity of what was bothering McGonagall and irritation that they spoke of him as if he weren’t even there.

“On the contrary, my dear. Harry needs to be informed of this so he knows to what extent Severus will need his help.”

“Is Snape all right?” Harry asked immediately in a voice tinged with worry.

“Professor Snape,” McGonagall corrected automatically. “And yes, he is as well as can be expected.”

It didn’t sound terribly reassuring to Harry. “What does he need my help with?” he pushed. “Does he need more healing? I could—“

“His health is not the issue,” the Headmistress interrupted quickly before Harry could get worked up. “The problem is what will happen to him _after_ he finishes healing.”

“Oh,” Harry said dumbly. “Actually, I just met with Kings— er, Minister Shacklebolt — about Sn— Professor Snape,” he corrected himself again, unable to keep from rolling his eyes slightly. “He gave a press conference this morning, and I will begin testimony next week. Hermione’s going to be working on my press statement. Since it will be my first one since the war, it should get a lot of attention.”

“Wonderful, my boy. Unfortunately, I fear it might not be enough.”

“I’m hoping to get him a full pardon and an Order of Merlin, First Class.”

“You may need to give more than one statement in regards to Severus if he wishes to return to Hogwarts.”

“Oh.” Harry frowned for a second before asking, “Does he?”

“I do not believe that is relevant,” McGonagall said with a hint of annoyance.

Harry gave her an incredulous stare. “I think it is rather relevant. I mean, if he _wants_ to return to Hogwarts, I will do my best to make it happen. If he _wants_ to open an apothecary and sell nothing but love potions, I’ll do the same. But it should be _his_ choice. He _had_ to teach to be a spy and stay safe… I could see why he might not want to anymore, is all,” he finished as he realized how closely he was being scrutinized by both McGonagall and Dumbledore.

“Hogwarts is his home,” Albus said simply, knowing Harry would understand. “He needs to be allowed to come home.”

“All right,” Harry said quickly. “I can talk to the Board of Governors if I need to. I’m sure Kingsley will help me include some stuff in my press statements to help achieve those ends.”

“It is imperative that Professor Snape be allowed to return,” McGonagall informed Harry firmly. It was obvious to Harry they had something planned other than Snape’s happiness. If they thought he was going to blithely go along with it, they had another think coming. Snape’s life had been manipulated as much as Harry’s. He wasn’t going to let them continue to do so. To either of them. “Tell me why,” he demanded, green eyes narrowing.

His former Head of House pursed her lips in irritation. “Because,” she said, voice holding a hint of disgust, “according to the castle, Severus Snape is still Headmaster.”


	2. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year after the final battle, the Wizarding World has begun healing. Hogwarts has announced it will be reopening. The Savior finally get to go 'home.' But will it be all that he expects it to be?

**Chapter 2 — Welcome Home**  
Harry stumbled out of the Floo into Grimmauld Place’s dingy sitting room, too exhausted to even bother cleaning the soot off his formal robes before he collapsed into the closest arm chair. Ron and Hermione were sitting on the sofa, obviously fighting if the distance between them was any indication. Their bickering stopped, though, as they greeted their friend.

“I can’t believe it’s been a year already,” Hermione said sadly. “Sometimes it seems as if the final battle were only yesterday.”

Harry partially agreed. He’d been busy for the past year. But when he woke from his nightmares, it seemed as if no time had passed at all. The ceremony at Hogwarts, though, had brought home how much time had truly gone by. Especially when Kingsley, as newly-appointed Minister of Magic, made his speech about how their society had grown and healed since the end of the war. Seeing all the empty chairs, for those they’d lost, made Harry wonder if it was ever truly possible for their world to heal completely.

“What did McGonagall want with you, mate?” Ron inquired, ignoring his girlfriend’s sentimentality. Harry was glad for the subject change, since his thoughts were growing quite maudlin.

“Talk about the upcoming school year,” Harry answered, summoning Kreacher with some tea. Hermione almost bounced in her seat over the prospect of returning to Hogwarts in September but Ron looked rather glum. Unlike Harry and Hermione, who’d spent the last year busily writing press statements and discussing court appearances, Ron had spent the year helping George in his shop. To him, it felt as if he would be moving backwards in life, to go from working a full-time job to being a student again. Molly, though, had already made it perfectly clear he _would_ be going back to sit his NEWTs.

“Did the Headmistress say how we would be organized?” Hermione asked excitedly. “I don’t think many from our class are returning. Most hired private tutors to help with their NEWTs. Are we going to be included with Ginny’s class?”

“No, the Hea- Professor McGonagall said that Gin’s class will be covering both Sixth and Seventh Year curriculum, so some of it would be redundant for us,” Harry said, feeling a bit flustered. He didn’t know why he never told Ron and Hermione that Snape was secretly still Headmaster. It had seemed somehow personal. Perhaps it was because of what Dumbledore had said that day; Hogwarts still insisting Snape was Headmaster was proof of the spy’s redemption. Snape _was_ returning to Hogwarts, as Deputy Headmaster, while McGonagall would spend a few years pretending to be Headmistress. They hoped the years between now and her retirement would be enough time to allow the public to forget what happened the last time Snape was Headmaster. “She said they would be opening up a new dorm for us. Something called Fifth House.”

Hermione gasped. “They are reopening Fifth House!? Harry, that is amazing!”

“What’s Fifth House?” Ron asked, stifling a yawn. 

“Honestly, Ronald, are you never going to read —“

“No. I’m not,” Ron interrupted. “So, are you going to lecture us or just tell me. What’s Fifth House?”

Hermione looked so annoyed that, for a moment, Harry thought she wasn’t going to actually tell him. He grinned at the stubborn look on her face. Eventually, though, the need to quote Hogwarts: A History won out. “Fifth House is a special program which has been offered by Hogwarts on and off since the days of the Founding. It is essentially an apprenticeship program. Graduated students mentor with one of the professors, helping them with their classes in exchange for extra lessons.”

“Why had we never heard of it before now?” Harry asked. He’d been wondering since McGonagall explained the Fifth House program to him in her office.

“Headmaster Dippet closed Fifth House in the 1940s when the Wizarding University outside of London was built. His brother started the University, so Dippet closed Fifth House to help enrollment.”

“Oh,” Harry said stupidly. “How do you remember all this sh-stuff?” he asked curiously.

“It interests me,” Hermione answered, un-offended. “I like learning of the traditions of our world, even if they’ve changed. We cannot hope to make a positive change in our world if we don’t already know where its been before,” she said as if it were obvious.

“History often repeats itself, right?” Harry said with the hint of a smirk.

“Of course!”

“Don’t mention History,” Ron groaned. “I can’t _believe_ you sentenced Lucius Malfoy to being the History teacher at Hogwarts.”

“I didn’t sentence him,” Harry said irritably. He’d had this fight with the Weasleys before. Dozens of times. “The Wizengamot did. Besides, it was Dumbledore’s idea.”

“I think its perfect, Harry,” Hermione said, as she usually did. “Everything he did as a Death Eater was because he wanted to preserve the Wizarding World’s culture and traditions. This shows him there was a positive way he could have tried to achieve those goals.”

“I don’t think I’d ever say it, though… I’m going to miss Binns.” Harry snickered at the disgust in Ron’s voice. After the final battle, it was discovered Professor Binns had moved on. Apparently the ghost liked talking about war and battle, but didn’t like actually ‘living’ through them. At first, Ron had rejoiced that Hogwarts’ most boring teacher was gone. Hermione had scolded him for it, of course. Harry had laughed at both of them.

“Luckily, you won’t be in normal classes, Ron,” Harry pointed out. “You won’t have to deal with Lucius much.”

“Ginny will,” Ron responded angrily. “After what that bastard did to her, she’s going to be forced to sit in his classes. It’s not right, Harry!”

“ _Lucius_ didn’t do anything to Gin. Not intentionally,” Harry argued, yet again. “ _Tom Riddle_ is the one who possessed Ginny. Lucius had no idea the diary was a Horcrux.”

“Like I believe that,” Ron snorted.

“Believe what you want, Ron,” Harry said tiredly. “I’m going to bed.”

“Honestly, Ron. Do you think Malfoy would have purposefully risked getting a Horcrux destroyed?” Hermione said for the umpteenth time. “It would have been a death sentence for him if Voldemort ever found out!”

As usual, Ron didn’t have a response. 

“Besides, you need to stop harping on about the Malfoys,” Hermione continued. “You _know_ they were good to Harry while staying here. You and Draco even seemed to get along alright.”

“I am _not_ friends with the Ferret,” Ron declared stubbornly, though Harry knew they’d gotten along better than Ron wanted to admit. For the most part, though, both Ron and Hermione had stayed clear of the Malfoys while they were living with Harry. Of the two of them, Hermione had spent the most time at Grimmauld Place since she helped Harry whenever he had to make a public appearance. She’d written the entire speech he’d made that night for the ceremony commemorating the final battle.

“Oh,” he said, pausing on the stairs up to his room. “I just remembered… McGonagall wants me to make a speech at the Welcoming Feast about Slytherins. Will you help me again, ‘Mione?”

“As if you even need to ask, Harry James,” Hermione laughed. “Of course I will!”

****

*************

Many of the Fifth house students Apparated to Hogsmeade instead of riding the Express. Harry boarded the train one last time more for nostalgia than anything else. The compartment was filled with all of the usual suspects. Harry bought loads of snacks for them to enjoy as they all spoke excitedly of what they’d been doing since they last rode the train together. It was easy to pretend the intervening years, the war, had never happened.

When the compartment door opened to show Malfoy’s amused sneer, Harry almost expected to see Crabbe and Goyle next to him. He tensed for a split second, as if curses were actually going to fly.

“Aren’t you ready yet, Scarhead?” a bored drawl asked when Draco saw the piles of parchment stretched out across Harry’s lap.

The compartment tensed, since only Ron and Hermione knew Draco had spent almost a year living with Harry. Neville gripped his wand tighter, anticipating a fight. Harry simply glared at Draco. The other boy looked better than Harry had seen him in a long time. He’d gained back some of the weight he’d lost during the stress of the war and ensuing trials, and Draco no longer gelled his hair back so severely. He looked… relaxed. 

Harry gave a sheepish grin. “Of course I’m not, Malfoy.” The two had made an unspoken truce when Draco realized how hard Harry was fighting to keep his family out of Azkaban. Eventually, the two had actually become rather close. That did not mean, however, they were actually _nice_ to each other.

“You know it doesn’t actually matter _what_ you say, Potter. Every one will be _thrilled_ just to hear the Chosen One talk. Nobody _actually_ wants to _listen_ to you.”

“Thanks, Malfoy.” There was only mild sarcasm in Harry’s words. Truthfully, it did help a bit.

The blonde boy shared a few more sarcastic comments with Harry before leaving. Everyone else relaxed once the Slytherin was gone. When the whistle sounded, Harry stood and pulled his trunk down from the overhead storage. He examined his new school uniform as he knotted his tie. The Gryffindor gold and red was gone, replaced by the deep purple that designated students of Fifth House. The crest no longer showed the proud lion, instead it showed the full Hogwarts insignia. The opposite breast had a blank crest on it. It would eventually change to designate the professor who was mentoring him. 

Ron had been complaining about the lack of Gryffindor robes since he’d received his Hogwarts letter. It wasn’t so much that they were no longer considered Gryffindors that bothered his friend; he just didn’t like the new uniform. “I can’t believe I have to wear _purple_!” he exclaimed loudly. “It’s so… girly.”

Harry turned and studied his friend. There was no way he was going to tell Ron the purple looked far better with his red hair than the Gryffindor crimson. Or worse - Harry shuddered invisibly - Cannon orange.

****

*************

The Great Hall had been changed only a little to accommodate the fifth table, which sat perpendicular to the four main tables in front of the platform where the teachers sat. It had actual chairs, instead of benches, and all of the seats faced the front of the Hall, putting the apprentices under the watchful eyes of their professors. Several of the teachers smiled brightly at Harry and one diminutive figure waved enthusiastically. Harry’s eyebrows shot to his hairline when he recognized the woman. “Mrs. Figg!” he exclaimed, genuinely pleased to see his old baby-sitter. “What are you doing here?”

Arabella Figg smiled happily. “Minerva offered me the Muggle studies position since someone needed to replace poor Charity. My former position was no longer needed, after all.”

Harry couldn’t help but grin; he still got a thrill realizing he never need return to the Dursley’s. “Should I assume you have permanently moved? No more Privet Drive for either of us?”

“I oft wondered which of us had the worst assignment: Severus, having to bow to that madman; or me, having to live _there_.” Mrs. Figg chuckled slightly. “I thought about staying, since the house was paid for by Dumbledore, and those wretched Muggles moved after you left. But then I was offered a place here, and I always wanted to live closer to dear Argie.”

_Argie_? Harry immediately wanted to scrub his brain clean of images of Arabella Figg and Argus Filch. He shuddered dramatically, but so did several other people within listening distance. Then the rest of the squib’s words sunk in. “Wait… the Dursley’s moved?”

Mrs. Figg’s eyes gained a mischievous twinkle. “It seems they got back from ‘vacation’ after the war and found the garden overrun by snakes, of all things.”

“I reckon that drove Aunt Petunia spare.”

“Poor woman could barely step from the house without _shrieking_. Rather undignified, if you ask me.”

“Potter,” a voice from down the table interjected, “please tell me you did not charm the serpents to antagonize your relatives.”

“ _Charm_ them? Of course not, Professor. I haven’t been back since I turned seventeen. I couldn’t very well use underage magic, now could I?” Harry gave Snape a falsely innocent look. “I _may_ have _asked_ a few of them to keep an eye on the place for me, though.”

“ _Harry_ ,” Hermione sighed from next to him. “What have we told you about using your powers for good?” The grin in the girl’s voice was obvious.

Harry finally lost his battle at keeping the giggles away and burst out laughing. “It _was_ , ‘Mione! They moved! I’m sure the rest of Privet Drive would call me a hero if they knew I existed.”

He noticed Snape arch a slim brow, but Lucius gave him a fleeting touch on the wrist and shook his head. Harry wondered if Malfoy was stopping Snape from making an insult about Harry’s celebrity status or to keep him from inquiring about Harry’s comment regarding his home life. Either way, he was grateful. Surprised, but grateful.

“Where are your cats?” Harry asked Mrs. Figg in order to quickly change the subject.

“Here, of course!”

Filius Flitwick’s high pitched voice joined into the conversation. “Last I saw them, they had Ms. Norris cornered near the Charms corridor.”

Arabella’s small, “oh, dear,” just made Harry laugh harder.

“Enough foolishness, Potter,” Snape admonished as he rose from his seat. The glare he sent Harry’s way lacked its usual venom. Harry settled in his chair while the First Years were gathered.

“Are you really a Parselmouth?” Blaise Zabini whispered from a few seats down. Harry simply nodded, wondering where the other boy had been during Second Year.

“Say something for us,” a small blonde girl next to Zabini ordered. Daphne something-or-other, Harry thought.

Harry shrugged and turned to Draco. “I need to look at a snake. Can I borrow one?”

Draco blinked at him. “Sorry, Potter,” he drawled. “That’s not something I usually carry around with me. What did you think? I’d have one in my pocket or something?”

Next to Harry, Ron choked and murmured something about not wanting to see Malfoy’s ‘trouser snake.’ Harry rolled his eyes. “I might be the Gryffindor Golden Boy, Malfoy, but _you_ were deemed the Silver Prince of Slytherin. I _know_ you have one on you somewhere. A necklace, ring, bracelet-“

“A tattoo,” Ron interjected under his breath. Harry shot him a glare as Draco recoiled.

“Come on,” Harry pleaded, trying to put Malfoy at ease again. “I’m guessing you have _at least_ three on you right now.”

“He’s got you pegged rather well,” Daphne giggled as Draco slipped a pendant from around his neck.

Harry cradled the small silver serpent in his palm, warmed by the numerous protective charms on it. “ _Alright_ ,” he hissed, “ _what would you like me to say_?” 

Most the table shivered. Draco, though, studied Harry carefully. “Sorry,” the Gryffindor said in English as he handed back the necklace. “Bad memories?” he added in a whisper.

“No,” Draco shook his head slightly. “You sound… different than he did.” He shrugged one shoulder, somehow making the gesture look elegant. “I still say it isn’t fair _you_ , of all people, have the most Slytherin of Slytherin traits.”

“Life isn’t fair… anyone who tells you differently is trying to sell you something.”

Hermione laughed at the mangled Muggle quote. “Malfoy,” she offered a moment later, “Harry could probably teach you.”

All three of the Slytherins looked shocked. Draco shook his head. “And here I thought you knew everything, Granger. People have to be born Parselmouths.”

Hermione looked rather smug. “Actually, Malfoy, that’s not _entirely_ correct. The intrinsic ability is innate; Harry speaks it whether he means to or not. However, like any language, it _can_ be learned. Though I’m not certain if it has traditional rules of syntax or not. It might—“

“I spoke it,” Ron interrupted before his girlfriend could get too far into her lecture. “Once.”

Draco looked skeptical, but both Harry and Hermione confirmed Ron’s statement. He finally agreed to try and learn Parseltongue if Harry actually wanted to teach him.

“Er… I’ll think about it,” Harry promised as Snape led the large group of First Years into the Great Hall. 

The sorting seemed to take forever. As Harry watched, he realized _why_ McGonagall wanted him to address the students. The students sorted into Slytherin looked visibly upset and several were shaking their head in denial. Voldemort’s attempts to make Slytherin the _only_ House was effectively destroying it. He remembered his own ignorant belief that all Slytherins were evil and regretted his naiveté. 

Harry was glad the Headmistress summoned the feast before calling Harry to the dais. He’d always hated Dumbledore’s long speeches while he was waiting to eat. But then, hopefully none of the students were being starved over the summer. He nervously stood before the podium and watched everyone hungrily dish their dinners. He spared a glance to his own empty seat, and equally empty plate, and mentally promised himself not to take too long. He cast a _Sonorous_ and waited for the clatter of utensils to die down as students noticed him.

“Hello,” he said with a shy smile. “I’m Harry Potter.”

The cheers were deafening. He shot an irritated glance at McGonagall but she gave him an encouraging nod. Snape, he noticed, looked suspiciously like he was hiding a sneer behind his tea cup.

“I guess that means you’ve heard of me,” Harry continued with a slight eye roll over the applause. “If you haven’t, ask one of your neighbors and only believe about half of what they tell you.”

“Some one should squash Rita Skeeter like a bug!” The shout was clearly heard and Harry’s nervousness fled as he laughed. He sent a mock glare at the Slytherin who’d yelled it.

“Oh, yes, _thank you_ for that one, Malfoy.”

Draco stretched out in his chair casually, arms folded behind his head in a relaxed pose. “I only told her _half_ those lies. She was perfectly capable of making up the rest.” The way his bored drawl cut through the din of noise let Harry know a _Sonorous_ was involved.

“Oh, well, in that case, I only _partially_ blame you.”

Both boys laughed. It effectively silenced the Hall as the students who’d known them for years gaped in shock. Harry saw Draco cast a _Quietus_ and smiled slightly. Malfoy certainly had a flair for the dramatic, but it served several purposes for Harry. He had clearly shown the end of the rivalry between the two of them — the end of an era, in some relieved teachers’ opinions — and it gave him an opening to talk about the House prejudices.

“I can tell some of you are shocked,” Harry said with the hint of laughter in his voice.

“He’s a Death Eater!” someone yelled.

“Yes, he was,” Harry said bluntly. The clamor rose, but Harry simply spoke over it. “Which put him in a rather good position to save my life when I was caught by Snatchers. I, for one, am bloody thankful for that!”

“So are we, Harry!” the shout this time clearly came from the Gryffindor table. Harry gave his girlfriend an appreciative smile as the students whooped and hollered. “Stand up and take a bow, Draco,” Harry ordered. “You’re a hero now.” With a laugh, Malfoy stood, turned, and gave the Great Hall a mocking bow. The one he gave Harry was rather more serious.

“If any of you read the papers, you probably know I testified at many of the Death Eater trials,” he continued with the actual content of his speech. “I want all of you to know I took my responsibility very seriously. If I testified on some one’s behalf, it is because they earned it.” He spared a glance at Lucius and Snape. Both wore blank expressions. “It is easy for people to accept some of the heroes of the war,” he gestured at the Fifth House table as he named them, “Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom… I couldn’t have done it without you guys.” Ron and Neville puffed up with pride while Hermione blushed. Harry waited for the applause to stop before continuing. “However, there are other heroes who people are finding it harder to accept. But, let me tell you, the world is not just black and white, Light or Dark. We are all shades of grey; especially during times of war. People on _both sides_ fought for my victory. There _were_ Death Eaters who were not loyal to Voldemort.” Harry ignored the gasp, though he wanted to yell that the bastard was dead… get over it. Instead, he continued his train of thought. “Without those who helped me, without their knowledge and protection, I would have been defeated.” He gave a cheeky grin over his shoulder to Snape. “Gryffindors might be brave, but Slytherins are sneaky bastards.”

“Language, Mr. Potter,” Snape drawled in his rich voice. Harry was glad the dour man actually seemed amused instead of looking like he wanted to hex Harry dead.

Instead of turning back to the students, Harry walked over to Snape. “I couldn’t have done it without you, sir,” he said softly, though the _Sonorous_ carried his words across the Hall. He bowed low, wand held flat in his outstretched palm. “Severus Snape, my life is in you debt,” he pledged. He peeked through his lashes in time to see Snape hide a gobsmacked expression. Harry doubted the Slytherin expected him to formally acknowledge the life debt between them. James Potter certainly would not have.

Snape rose gracefully and reached across the table to lay his hand over Harry’s, wand in between their palms. “Without your assistance, I would have died. There is no debt between us.” The Hall was so silent, he didn’t even need to charm his deep voice.

Harry grinned slightly as he straightened. “Figured that only got me past First Year. What about all the other times you saved my life?”

Then Severus Snape laughed — a dark, rich sound of true mirth. You could have heard a pin drop in the Hall; Harry doubted the students were even breathing it was so quiet. “You stopped him, Mr. Potter. I require nothing more. Your debt is paid.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And you as well, Mr. Potter.”

Harry turned back to the students. “This man,” he said, pointing at Snape, “is the bravest man I’ve ever met. And he’s _not_ a Gryffindor. He’s the Head of Slytherin!” The entire house table cheered, even those students who’d looked so scared during the sorting. “ _None_ of us are purely one House or the other. _All_ of us are courageous, intelligent, loyal, and cunning. Which makes our rivalries a bit pointless, don’t you think?” Everyone shouted their agreement. “For years, the Sorting Hat told us to work together. For years, we didn’t listen. It is time we started! Hogwarts will be stronger than ever!”

The Hall exploded with noise. Harry cast a _Quietus_ and took his seat. He piled food on his plate and ignored the stares. At this point, he considered them part of the Hogwarts experience. He’d come home at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ______________________________  
> “ _Life isn’t fair… anyone who tells you differently is trying to sell you something_.”  
>  — Paraphrased quote form The Princess Bride. For some reason, several quotes from the movie have worked their way into this story. *Shrugs*


	3. Common Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fifth House students find their rooms and learn how they will be placed with their Mentors. Harry, though, learns more than he bargained for about the world he saved.

** Chapter 3 — Common Room **

The Fifth House dormitory was located at the base of the Headmaster’s tower. The students had been told to look for the Hogwarts crest, but they hadn’t been given a password. The crest was easy to find; cast in various metals, and brightly enameled, it stood proudly on the wall several floors below the gargoyle statue. Unfortunately, without a password, no one could figure out how to get by it. Eventually, Draco pushed through the throng of students gathering around the crest. He looked at them as if to say ‘you all are idiots’ and pressed his hand to the serpent on the top right corner. He vanished with a pop that was felt more than heard.

Still rather uncertain, other students began to touch the crest and disappear inside. Harry watched as all of them, like Draco, touched the emblem from their former House. Curiously, he approached the crest and touched the badger on the bottom left. Nothing happened. Placing his hand on the Raven didn’t do anything either. He stared at the two creatures left, decided he’d done enough experimenting for the day, and placed his hand over the proud lion.

For a second, Harry felt the same tugging sensation as with a Portkey. Then, it felt like he was sucked into a vacuum tube and immediately spat back out. He shuddered at the unpleasant sensation and took his first halting steps into his new dorm. The Common Room was set up like all the house commons — several tables and chairs sitting in the corners for studying and large, comfortable couches and armchairs gathered around the fireplace. The settees were white leather with floppy purple throw pillows tossed on and around them. The mantel of the fireplace was dull brass as were the sconces holding torches along the stone walls. Four large portrait frames decorated the room, but they all stood empty. Idly, Harry wondered who would be sharing their rooms. He hoped it wasn’t Dumbledore, not only for his own peace of mind but for the others’ as well.

Like all the dormitories, two large staircases split off from the Common. He climbed the boys’ side to find four rooms, each dominated by two large beds. There were three lavatories, one at the end of the hall that was accessible from the hall or the farthest bedrooms. The other two lavs were spaced across the hall from each other and joined the two bedrooms on that side together. It was an oddly circular layout for a square hallway. The eight Fifth House boys crowded into the hallway and stared into the various rooms.

“I’ve already chosen the room on the far right,” Draco stated, pushing by the others. The Malfoys had moved into Hogwarts early, both because of the castle’s protection and because Lucius’ freedom demanded he remain within the school for the better part of each year.

Terry Boot snickered. “Fine, let Malfoy have that lav all to himself. I had to share the Prefects bath with him. I know girls with less hair care products.” He moved to the closest room on the left. Harry wondered if it was because that was as far away from Draco as he could get.

Neville gave a small shrug and started to follow him. “Guess I’m rooming with you since there are three Gryffindors and only one Ravenclaw.”

“Actually, Neville, do you mind sharing with Wayne?” Everyone looked at Justin Finch-Fletchley in surprise. The Hufflepuff blushed. “Terry and I… er… we’ve been together since Sixth Year.”

“Brilliant!” Neville exclaimed with a smile at Wayne Hopkins. “Hope you don’t mind snoring, roomy.”

The large Hufflepuff clapped Neville on the back. “Be a might hypocritical of me, mate,” he announced, pushing Neville into the room Terry had tried to claim. “Let the lovebirds all take that side of the hall.”

“We are _not_ a couple!” Draco exclaimed haughtily. “I’m not bent!”

“Ooh, but wouldn’t that be pretty!” Terry said with a playful wink at Justin. Laughing, Justin dragged his boyfriend toward their newly designated room.

Harry watched the couple, brows raised to his hairline. “How’d I miss that?” he asked Ron.

“I’m not surprised you did, mate. You were a bit oblivious Sixth Year. You spent all your time obsessing over Malfoy and Snape.”

Draco’s silver eyes lit up. “Really, Potter? I’m shocked. Tell me more.”

Zabini laughed, shoving by Draco so he could get into their room. “Yeah, you don’t fancy blokes. Tell us another one, Draco, ‘cause you’ve got a bit of drool on your chin.”

Harry blushed bright red. “I’m not - I wasn’t - I was, but not -“

“Brilliant, Har’,” Ron chuckled. “It’s a bit more convincing if you use actual sentences.”

Harry turned to glare at his best friend. “I was _not_ obsessed with them!”

“Sorry, mate, I was there. You were.”

“ _If_ I was, it was because I thought they were _evil_. Not because they were…”

“Hot?” Draco offered the suggestion with a smirk.

Blaise laughed. “Little late to be calling them ‘evil,’ Potter, seeing as you just lauded them as _heroes_ in front of the Great Hall.”

“I said I _thought_ they were! An-and with good reason! Malfoy tried to _Crucio_ me!”

“Tried being the operative word,” Draco said nervously.

Harry gave the Slytherin a reckless grin. “I couldn’t cast it either when I tried. Guess we both suck at Unforgivables, huh?”

Ron looked at his friend curiously. “Well, other than that one you _did_ use, Harry. Did a right fine job of it, too.”

“Y-you cast an Unforgivable!?” Justin asked, looking at Harry in horror.

Harry suddenly felt years older than most his classmates. “I meant what I said, Justin. There is no black and white in war,” he said before ducking into his room.

Harry lay on his bed, staring at the purple canopy, as he listened to the hustle and bustle of the others unpacking. Harry didn’t bother. He didn’t have many belongings anyway. He’d burnt most his possessions after the war and replaced the hand-me-downs with clothes that fit. Kreacher had hidden most his Weasley jumpers, claiming that Harry needed to comport himself as befitting a Lord Black. Part of Harry preferred the House Elf when he hated his ‘Master,’ but Kreacher had taken a shine to him since he’d destroyed the locket. He was convinced Harry Potter was the new Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. It annoyed Harry to no end. Surprisingly, Narcissa had found it rather amusing.

He was jolted from his ruminations by footsteps thundering down the stairs. Harry figured everyone was converging on the Common Room. A moment later, Ron poked his head into their room to tell Harry he was going downstairs to spend some time with Hermione. He told Harry to come join him, but Harry simply lay there feeling apathetic. Thoughts of the war tended to do that to him; as if he’d done so much back then he didn’t have any energy to spare so he could do anything more. When his door opened a few minutes later, Harry didn’t even bother to roll back over to face his friend, though he was surprised Ron had returned so quickly.

“You only did what you had to, Potter,” the quiet drawl didn’t belong to his best friend.

Harry sighed loudly. “I know, Malfoy. And trust me, casting _Imperious_ isn’t the worst of my regrets.”

“I’m well aware of that, Potter. I’ve heard some of your nightmares.”

Harry gave the Slytherin a small smile. Very few people knew the Malfoys had been hidden with Harry, under the _Fidelius_ of Grimmauld Place, until they had to appear before the Wizengamot. When Dumbledore’s portrait had first suggested the arrangement, Harry thought the old man was mental. Or, perhaps, that as a portrait, he wasn’t nearly as clever as he’d been as a wizard. In the end, however, it had worked well. Only the Malfoys and Snape knew Harry had purposefully walked into a Killing Curse. He couldn’t even bring himself to tell Ron and Hermione what Dumbledore had expected of him.

When he woke screaming from nightmares of sickeningly green light and laughing white masks, it was Narcissa Malfoy who sat by his bed. She whispered soothing words and once even sang him back to sleep. For the first time in his life he’d truly realized what it would have been like having a mother. He doubted Draco would have understood the magnitude of his jealousy at that moment.

He found himself confiding in Narcissa, in ways he’d never confided in anyone before. He told her what it had been like growing up with the Dursleys. Of how the Wizarding world’s expectations of him had weighed so heavily. She, alone, was told of how he simply wanted to give up at times, and how Harry had fully expected to die in the forest that night and part of him had welcomed it.

His closeness with Narcissa slowly affected how the other members of the Malfoy family treated him. He’d overheard the matriarch lecturing her son on his treatment of Harry more than once. The antagonism between himself and Draco had begun to ease, helped by late nights when both didn’t want to shut their eyes for fear of the dreams that would come. Slowly, they became something akin to friends. Then, the night before the Malfoys’ trial began, the two boys had performed a ritual to become blood brothers, a bond Harry didn’t even share with Ron.

“I didn’t expect it to be so hard being back here,” Harry admitted. “Hogwarts has always been… home.”

“Be glad you weren’t here for Seventh Year, Potter. I think all of us are going to be having nightmares being back.” Draco shot him a wry grin. “So quit sulking, put on your happy Harry Potter mask, and get your arse down to the common.”

Harry gave a heavy put-upon sigh. “All right, all right,” he exclaimed, rolling off the bed to his feet. “Git.”

“Prat.”

“ _Annoying_ git.”

“Imbecile. You can’t even think of a new insult,” Draco retorted with a sneer.

“Why should I when adjectives work just as well?”

“Oh, you learned grammar! Granger must be proud.”

Both boys were laughing as they trooped down the stairs. 

Ron gave him a strange look as he sat down. “I _was_ just joking ‘bout Malfoy, mate. You’re not…” He looked a little green. 

“Not what?”

“You’re _just_ friends, right?”

“What?!”

“I mean, I know you’re friends with the prat, but… is that all? You… you could tell me, Har’, if its more.”

Harry stared at his best friend incredulously. “What?! Ron! I’m dating your _sister_!” he said before lowering his voice. “I-I’m not _gay_.”

“You seem pretty happy to me, mate, though I don’t know what that has to do with you and Gin.”

Harry gave Ron an incredulous look, uncertain what to say. Luckily, the third part of the Golden Trio was also listening. “Ron,” Hermione lectured, “Harry doesn’t mean he’s not _happy_. ‘Gay’ is a Muggle term for people who like their own gender.”

“Muggles have a special _word_ for it?” Ron looked confused.

“Several, actually,” Harry said with a cheeky grin.

“ _Why_!?”

Now it was Harry’s turn to be baffled. “Why wouldn’t they?” He knew he’d heard boys in his dorms refer to people as bent — hell, _Malfoy_ had just used it, so it obviously wasn’t a Muggle term. He honestly didn’t know why Ron was so confused.

“Do they have a special term for… straight people?”

“Um, yeah. Straight?” Harry said, rolling his eyes slightly.

Hermione made an exasperated noise. It sounded a bit like an angry cat. “Ron, Muggles call ‘straight’ couples Heterosexuals. People who are attracted to their own gender are Homosexual, or bisexual if they like both. A lot of Muggles have have problems with same sex relationships.”

“That’s barking!” Ron shouted, face darkening. “Love is love!” He glanced at Harry, giving his friend a rather understanding look. “I’m guessing the Dursleys were like that. No wonder you never admitted to liking blokes.”

“I don’t!” Harry denied fiercely. “Ron, I’m dating your _sister_!”

Ron started to say something, but Hermione subtly shook her head. Ron snapped his mouth closed hard enough that his teeth clacked together. If Harry were a slightly more suspicious person, he might have wondered what his best friend wasn’t saying. Since he wasn’t, he didn’t. Instead he spent the next hour blushing as Hermione lectured him on the history of sexuality in the Wizarding World.

****

*************

Fifth House converged in the Great Hall for breakfast, all curious about when and how they would get paired with their mentor. Several students were speculating as the teachers passed out schedules to the younger students.

“I bet we will be tested for aptitude,” Mandy Brocklehurst stated with a decisive nod.

“B-but I haven’t studied!” Lisa Turpin sounded as dismayed as any Ravenclaw (or Hermione) would at being caught unprepared for a test.

“I don’t test well,” Wayne grumbled, getting commiserating smiles from both Neville and Hannah Abbot.

“Honestly,” Draco said in a disgusted drawl, “have _none_ of you read  Hogwarts: A History?”

Hermione gave a delighted gasp while Harry, Ron, Blaise and Daphne all groaned.

“I believe you and ‘Mione are on your own with that one, Malfoy,” Harry stated with an amused smirk. “So… would you mind just _telling_ us how they will match us with a master?”

“The Sorting Hat,” Hermione said as though it should’ve been obvious. Which, in a way, it was. “The Hat will talk to all the faculty and the students to find out what positions they would fit best in.”

“All the faculty?” Neville asked in a horrified voice. “I could be apprenticed to Snape!? Or… or Filch!?”

The table laughed at the nervous Gryffindor. “I wouldn’t worry too much, Nev. If Sprout isn’t your mentor, they should burn the hat,” Harry reassured his friend.

Neville snorted. “As long as it’s not on my head this time,” he said with a wink at Harry

Harry gulped at the wink. He hadn’t realized homosexuality was an accepted (and even expected!) practice in the Wizarding World. Now, though, he found himself looking at his classmates… differently. Was Neville _flirting_ with him? How did he feel about it if he was? He decided he didn’t know and put off thinking about it until later.

Instead of a schedule, each member of Fifth House was given an appointment. Harry scowled when he saw his; he had to wait until right before lunch… _the next day_! Ron’s appointment wasn’t until after lunch! Hermione, though, had one at two that afternoon. It irritated him, until Hermione pointed out that the schedule was one student an hour in alphabetical order.

It was difficult sitting around the Fifth House Common waiting for Hannah Abbot to get back from her appointment. The Hufflepuff finally came back, excited near to bursting, shortly after Terry had left. “That was really neat!” she exclaimed, throwing herself onto one of the couches. “I had no idea the Sorting Hat knew so much!”

“I did,” Harry mumbled under his breath.

“I mean, the first time it just muttered a whole lot before putting me in Hufflepuff,” the girl gushed, “but this time I actually _talked_ to it!”

“What professor did it assign you?” Harry asked abruptly. The question came out sharper than he intended; he _really_ wasn’t looking forward to talking to the Hat. _Again_.

“Oh! Muggle Studies,” Hannah answered with a grin, ignoring Harry’s irritability. “It’s what I was hoping for, actually.”

“Really?” Draco couldn’t seem to stop his sneer. Or his laughter.

“Yes,” Hannah said firmly. She gave the Slytherin an indignant glare. “I happen to _like_ Muggle Studies.”

“Have you met Mrs. Figg?” Harry asked in order to prevent Draco from being more of an ass.

“Professor Figg,” Hermione corrected.

Harry gave her a bemused smile. “That just sounds so… _bizarre_. I’ve known her since I was _five_.” Draco gave Harry an amused smirk. Harry didn’t need to ask why; he knew Malfoy practically considered ‘Professor Snape’ a different entity than his godfather ‘Severus.’

“She told me I could call her Arabella,” Hannah said proudly. “The Headmistress called her in to meet me.”

“What did she say? Did she give you a lesson plan already?” Mandy asked enthusiastically. Her appointment was right after Terry’s and the Ravenclaw was fairly vibrating with excitement.

“It almost felt like an interview,” Hannah stated. “She asked me all sorts of questions. Did I know many Muggles? What did I like about Muggle Studies? Had I ever lived outside the Wizarding World? All sorts of things.”

“What did you tell her?” Lavender asked, always curious if she were near a spot of gossip. “Did you like her?”

“She was great! A bit dotty, but _really_ nice. I told her I was from the Wizarding World, but I loved all the different portals into the Muggle world. She knew the original owner of the Leaky Cauldron!”

“That’s wonderful, Hannah,” Hermione said. It was clear, though, that the studious Gryffindor didn’t understand her classmate’s enthusiasm. Ron, however, did. He struck up a lively discussion with the girl about some of the things he’d heard from his father over the years.

Harry tuned them out. In fact, Harry tuned them all out until he realized Neville was trying to talk to him. He blinked, trying to figure out how long he’d been ignoring his friend.

“What do you think it will say to you?” he was asking.

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted nervously. His lower lip was already sore from anxiously biting it.

“First time I talked to it, I was scared it would say there’d been a mistake. That I wasn’t really a wizard.”

Harry looked at Neville in surprise. The quiet admission hung in the air between them. “Me too,” Harry said softly. He was reminded sharply how much he had in common with his friend. So much so that Neville could have been the Boy-who-Lived.

“ _What_!?” Hermione’s dismayed shriek broke the quiet moment. “What do you mean we won’t be told for certain until Wednesday!?”

Hannah gave a small shrug. “Headmistress McGonagall said all the professors and the Hat would have a meeting tomorrow night before they announced our placements. I guess it’s to make sure there’s no overlap. The only reason I talked to Arabella is because she doesn’t know any of the students yet, so she wants to meet her potential apprentices to help her make a decision.”

Hermione’s distraught mutterings were interrupted when Terry came back in, grinning widely. Apparently, he explained, the Hat saw several possible placements for him, but mainly spoke of Arithmancy. He hadn’t talked to Vector, since he’d been one of the Professor’s top students for several years. He quickly told them about some of the stranger questions the Hat had asked before Mandy set off for her appointment.

One by one the students went to their interviews. Lavender’s lasted longer than any of them expected. How many questions did the Hat need to ask before giving the girl a Divination apprenticeship? All of Fifth House waited anxiously…well, for a few minutes, at least, before scurrying to the Great Hall for lunch.

Ginny came over to talk to Harry during the meal, but he found himself too distracted to be much of a conversationalist. The younger girl left in a huff, but Harry barely noticed. He was one of the few at the table who didn’t.

Neville came up to him as they were walking back to the Common Room. “You didn’t have to be so mean, Harry,” the Gryffindor admonished him. Harry looked at Neville in surprise.

“W-what?” he stammered. Idly, he wondered when, exactly, Neville had ceased being the chubby, nervous wizard Harry’d grown up with and actually become an intimidating person. ‘ _During the war_ ,’ his inner voice chided. ‘ _It changed all of us._ ’

“Ginny,” Neville growled. “You hurt her feelings.”

Part of Harry wanted to tell Neville that was between him and Ginny, but he thought it would be too rude. He was still trying to figure out what he should say when Neville walked away, clearly irritated by Harry’s silence.

“What was _that_ about?” a bewildered Harry asked his best friends. Ron only shrugged and touched the seal to be pulled into the dorms. Hermione, though, gave a heavy sigh.

“Neville and Gin got to be quite close. During that year.” She didn’t have to elaborate on _what_ year. Harry understood. Most people didn’t actually talk about what happened to them during the final year of the war. “I think Neville has a bit of a crush on Ginny. He didn’t like seeing her upset.”

“Oh.” Harry wasn’t certain how he felt learning Neville had a crush on his girlfriend. Like so much else, he tucked the information away to examine later. “Did I really hurt her feelings?”

“Yes,” Hermione answered honestly. “But you were obviously upset about something and she didn’t notice either.”

“Oh,” Harry said again.

“It’s the Sorting Hat, isn’t it?” Hermione, ever the observant one, asked. “You are worried about talking to it.”

Harry knew his friend wouldn’t let the matter drop so he simply nodded.

“Why? Everyone so far has really enjoyed talking to it. I’m very excited about it, in fact.”

“I know.” Harry stared at his feet glumly. “It’s just - I don’t-“ He faltered, searching for something plausible to say. “Occlumency lessons,” he finally said, pleased with the story. “I don’t want anything poking around in my head. Because of… you know. What I went through during Occlumency lessons.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said in sympathy. “It won’t be that bad. I’m sure of it.” She gave him a sympathetic hug before entering the Common Room.

“That was a pile of Hippogriff dung,” Draco stated from the shadows before Harry could pass through the portal after his friend. 

Harry lowered his hand slowly and turned toward the Slytherin. “What would you know about it, Malfoy?” he challenged.

“You forget, Potter, I had Occlumency lessons too. I’m not _scared_ of talking to the Hat, and I had Aunt Bella nosing around in my head. Try telling me _your_ lessons were worse than _that_.”

Harry leaned against the wall opposite the Slytherin, arms fold over his chest and a sneer plastered on his face. “Snape. Fifth year.”

“All right,” Draco said with a smirk. “I guess that would be a bit awkward.”

“He gave them to me to keep Voldemort from taking over my mind. It failed. My godfather died because of it.”

“That sucks. Fine. You win.”

“Of course I do, Malfoy.”

“Still… Granger might fall for your woe-as-me innocent act, but I don’t. You were lying out your arse. Why?”

Harry looked around the empty hall before jerking his head for Draco to follow him. He led them to the nearest unused classroom. He locked the door and sealed it with numerous wards he’d learned from Hermione during… that year. He used a couple more he found in the Black Family Library just for good measure.

“I’ve talked to the Sorting Hat before,” he told Draco. It was easier than he imagined to tell the Slytherin, perhaps because he didn’t think Draco would judge him for it. Not like Hermione or the Weasleys might. “Twice, actually,” he amended.

“And?” Draco prompted.

“I didn’t like what it had to say,” Harry snapped.

“Apparently not,” Draco drawled with a roll of his silver eyes. “It has your knickers in a twist to the point you didn’t even want the Weaslette _near_ you.”

“The Sorting Hat… Ollivander…” Harry paused, took a deep breath, and tried to figure out what he was trying to say. He didn’t care, not anymore, that he’d almost been a Slytherin. No, unfortunately, he’d begun to suspect something much worse. “Did you know Ginny was possessed by one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes in her first year?” 

“Seriously?” It seemed to be a non-sequitur, but after many sleepless nights Draco had become quite inured to Harry’s meandering conversations.

Harry nodded. “Your father snuck it into her school supplies. It completely took her over. She’s the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets.”

“I heard rumors, but I figured they were all shite. Did you really kill a Basilisk?”

Harry gave a vague nod. “There was another Horcrux, a locket that belonged to Salazar Slytherin, which we found months before we knew how to destroy them.”

“You told me a bit about that one. Stole it from Umbitch, right? Nasty piece of work.”

“The Horcrux or Umbridge?” Harry asked with a wry grin. Draco answered with a smirk of his own. “I sometimes wonder how much the locket affected her,” Harry said with a shrug, “since she was horrid to begin with.” He absently rubbed the scar on his hand. ‘ _I must not tell lies_.’ He jerked his shoulders again, as if to dislodge his errant thoughts. “The locket affected all of us poorly. Ron suffered the worst of it. We passed it around so none of us had to wear it for long, but after a few months, Ron…”

“You’ve told me before, Potter. The Weasel went batty. Do you _have_ a point? Because I’ve been waiting for awhile now.”

Harry looked almost grateful at Draco forcing the subject. “It took a matter of months, Malfoy. Months! For both of them to go mad after being exposed to a piece of that bastard’s soul. _Months_!” Harry ran a frustrated hand through his hair, causing it to stand up even more. “I had one in me for almost seventeen _years_ and was fine. Completely unaffected.”

“I wouldn’t say _that_ ,” Draco said drolly, earning himself a glare. The Slytherin sobered quickly. “Potter, there could be any number of reasons you were protected. Maybe your Mother’s sacrifice acted as a buffer. I don’t know. Why are you worrying about it now?”

Harry chewed his lip, thinking. His Mum’s sacrifice… the protection from it ended in Little Hangleton. Right before Dumbledore decided Harry needed to learn to protect his mind. It made sense, but… it still gave him two unprotected years spent with a Horcrux. He shook his head as he travelled back to the same conclusion. “I’m a Dark Wizard,” he whispered. “That’s why it didn’t affect me as much.”

“So? I, for one, am rather glad it didn’t drive you mental before you could off the Dark Lord.”

“Didn’t you hear what I said, Malfoy? I’m-“

“I heard you, Potter,” Draco interrupted. “Did you? Do you not even listen to you _own_ speeches? Shades of grey, remember? So what if you started out on the Darker side of that scale. It _doesn’t_ mean you’re _evil_.”

Harry paused. “You’re right,” he said, exhaling heavily. Malfoy preened at the words. “It is our choices which define us,” he quoted. Draco gave him a questioning look, but Harry simply shook his head, not wanting to discuss Dumbledore’s advice at the moment.

He felt rather lighter of heart as he dismantled the wards. Until he opened the door and saw Hermione standing there. The bushy-haired Gryffindor gave him a small smile. “I didn’t try and break through them, but you had to know I would recognize _those_ wards, Harry.” She gave him a quick hug and nodded a curt greeting at Malfoy. “Do you feel better?” she asked her friend.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Next time, don’t lie to me. I just wanted to make sure you talked to _somebody_ about what was bothering you. Even if it is Malfoy.”

“Should’ve figured you hadn’t fooled her, Potter. You are an atrocious liar.”

Harry gave Hermione’s shoulder a grateful squeeze. “Thanks, ‘Mione.”

“But, _honestly_ , Harry,” Hermione began, unable to go for long without lecturing her friend, “I’m worried that you don’t think you can talk to Ginny about these things. She _is_ your girlfriend.”

“I’ll… try. To do better.” Harry smiled again as he started toward the dorms.

“He shouldn’t have to _try_ ,” Hermione whispered to Draco. “He should _want_ to talk to her.”

Draco looked at the girl, shocked that she was confiding in _him_ about troubles involving _Harry Potter’s_ relationship. He gave an uncaring shrug. “Potter considers the Weaslette untouched by the war and wants to keep it that way. Idiotic Gryffindor is trying to protect her.”

“That makes no sense, Malfoy! Ginny wasn’t -“

“I know. I don’t think anybody was unaffected. But Potter, imbecile that he is, doesn’t see that.”

“It’s not all Harry’s fault. Ginny doesn’t talk about that year. Not with Harry, at least.”

“I’m sure they will figure it out eventually.”

Neither of them commented on _what_ the young couple needed to figure out.

*****************


	4. Conversations with a Hat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of Fifth House is excited and anxious to learn of their Apprenticeship placement. All of them, that it, but Harry.

** Chapter 4 — Conversation with a Hat **

The afternoon passed as the morning had. One-by-one the Fifth House students went to their appointments with the Sorting Hat while the others waited anxiously. Lavender had returned looking smug, which had caused a loud argument with Parvati. Both girls desperately wanted the Divination apprenticeship and were no longer speaking to each other. Harry suspected their friendship wouldn’t survive one of them getting the position.

Hermione came back from her interview visibly perplexed. The Hat had talked to her for almost the full hour, asking numerous questions, but in the end had given her no clues about her placement. She was so nervous and stressed, Harry doubted she would have fingernails by the next day.

Most of the students were given hints about where they’d end up but were told nothing definite. Only Hannah seemed to know for certain. That is until dinnertime. Neville walked into the Great Hall with a huge smile splitting his face. “The Hat said it hadn’t spoken to a Green Man in years! It was glad the old magics hadn’t died out.”

The Fifth House table all congratulated him while Harry sent a questioning glance to Hermione. The witch rolled her eyes before explaining in a whisper. “A Green Man is a witch or wizard whose magic is naturally attuned to the earth. It used to be fairly common - most the wizarding tribes had a Green Man. They were sort of like priests in charge of the Harvest. Unfortunately, most the old gifts have been dying out slowly.”

“Like Parselmouths.”

“Yes. Only useful.”

Harry glared at his friend before giggling along with her. She was, in a way, correct. He’d yet to find a decent use for Parseltongue. Unless he felt like being flashy.

After dinner, Harry tried to apologize to Ginny about his earlier rudeness. Unfortunately, his girlfriend was busy. She spent most the time before curfew in an animated conversation with Neville about what the Sorting Hat had all said. He tried to join the conversation, but he left as soon as Gin excitedly began speculating on what the Hat would tell Harry. He went to bed feeling rather irritable.

At breakfast the next morning, Draco was so wrecked he could barely eat. Zabini tried to cheer him up by pointing out Draco would probably just end up apprenticed to his dad. Draco paled considerably - quite a feat seeing as how pale he usually was - and dropped the bit of toast he’d valiantly been nibbling on. The other Slytherins all snickered as Draco bolted from the Great Hall.

“He was like this before every Quidditch match, too,” Daphne Greengrass stage-whispered to Hermione. Hermione giggled and glanced at Ron and Harry. “I understand completely,” she said, sharing a commiserating look with the other girl.

Draco returned from his interview wearing a thoughtful expression. Most of Fifth House left him alone. They were still rather uncomfortable around the young Death Eater, so they didn’t question his silence. Harry, of course, had no such qualms.

“It blindsided you, didn’t it?” he asked, a bit smug. At least _he_ wasn’t the only one rattled by the Sorting Hat.

Draco snorted. “No. It just suggested an option I’d never considered. It said I still have a thirst to prove myself, which is why it put me in Slytherin, but if I wanted to truly be successful I would need to change my path.”

“Bloody useful. Did it say _how_ you should do so?”

“It had a few ideas.”

“I’m surprised it didn’t immediately place you in a Potions apprenticeship.” Harry had to admit Malfoy _was_ brilliant in the class, even if he did use his knowledge of ingredients to sabotage Harry for most their time at Hogwarts.

“We talked about Potions for a bit. The Hat… thought it could be useful, but it said I wouldn’t ‘flourish’ in the position or some such nonsense.” Draco sneered as he made air quotes around the one word. “Can’t say I disagree, though. Slughorn _hates_ me. It makes it bloody difficult to learn from him,” he added nonchalantly. 

“I can’t even imagine,” Harry said with a dark chuckle, “trying to learn Potions from someone who _hated_ me.” The sarcasm dripped from his voice. Ron, who’d been eavesdropping on the conversation, fell off his chair laughing.

Padma Patil came back from her appointment and simply gave a small shrug. The Ravenclaw seemed completely unconcerned about who would be her mentor. Her twin sister was exactly the opposite. Parvarti hurried into the Common Room and immediately began arguing with Lavender about which one of them would get the Divination apprenticeship.

Harry gulped as he glanced at the clock. He stood, trying to appear confident. “See you at lunch, yeah?”

Ron and Hermione cheerfully wished him good luck. Draco gave him a terse nod, but his pale eyes looked concerned. Harry tried to give him a reassuring smile. It failed miserably. 

The walk to the Gargoyle statue seemed to take far too long. Harry wished it had taken twice as much time. He greeted the Headmistress politely but his eyes were glued to the ratty bit of haberdashery sitting on her desk. McGonagall didn’t seem to notice his preoccupation and continued to make small talk. Harry answered all her questions - yes, the Fifth House dorms were quite nice, and no, he didn’t miss being a Gryffindor because he still considered himself one. However, as she began to talk about the new Transfiguration teacher, Professor Morphus, and how he’d work as the Gryffindor Head of House, Harry began to fidget. Finally, she noticed his anxiety.

“I suspect you would like to know,” she said. The fond look in her eyes as she handed Harry the Sorting Hat softened her stern features. Harry nodded mutely, not trusting his voice, as he took the Hat from her. “We’ll talk afterwards,” she promised.

Harry’s hands felt shaky as he slipped the Hat onto his head. Unlike the last time he talked to it, the Hat didn’t fall down over his eyes. He closed them in concentration and took several cleansing breaths.

‘ _Ah, Mr. Potter. I always hoped I would speak to you again. Such an interesting mind.’_

_‘Um… thanks?’_

_‘It has changed, drastically, since I last spoke with you.’_

The off-hand comment startled Harry. His eyebrows shot up under the Hat’s brim. ‘ _Could you sense the Horcrux_?’ he asked curiously.

‘ _No. But you’ve matured a great deal since you were twelve._ ’ The Hat sounded smug.

‘ _Ha-ha,_ ” Harry thought darkly. His face twisted into a scowl. “ _Next time, I won’t keep them from setting you on fire._’

‘ _Temper, temper, Mr. Potter. I always knew you would have done well in Slytherin.’_

_‘Because I have a temper?’_

_‘Because you know what power you hold, when to use it, and when not to.’_

_‘Oh._ ’ Harry gave a mental sigh. ‘ _Tell me about my power.’_

_‘I am surprised, Mr. Potter. I did not expect you to become egotistical in these intervening years.’_

_‘I’m not ego-_‘ Harry broke off the thought before he could lose his temper again. There was a long moment of silence from the Hat. Harry felt invisible fingers rummaging through his thoughts.

‘ _Oh, I see_ ,’ the Hat eventually said. With dread, Harry realized it truly did. ‘ _Why would you fear such an inconsequential thing, Mr. Potter?”_

_“It isn’t inconsequential_ ,’ Harry argued. ‘ _I spent my whole life fighting a Dark Wizard, I don’t-‘_

_‘Want to become one? But you already are._’

It felt like ice water had been dashed over his head. Harry froze. Like the first time he’d spoken to the Hat, a mantra started in his head. Only this time, instead of ‘ _not Slytherin_ ,’ he was chanting, ‘ _I’m not a Dark Lord, I’m not a Dark Lord.’_

_‘Of course you aren’t, Mr. Potter._ ’ The Hat seemed to be trying to reassure him. Instead, the voice sounded smarmy. ‘ _Every witch or wizard has a natural affiliation towards Light or Dark. However, it does not mean you are a Dark Lord.’_

_‘Really_?’ Harry couldn’t stop the plaintive quality of the thought.

‘ _Really, Mr. Potter. But, oh, Slytherin would have made you great. Power and ambition to rival Tom Riddle’s own. You would have succeeded him magnificently.’ _

_‘I’m not like him. I don’t want to take his place.’_

_‘No. You truly don’t, do you_?’ The very notion seemed to confuse the Hat. ‘ _Because of which, you will stay weak_.’

‘ _I’m not weak.’_

_‘Oh, but you are. You deny yourself. Your very nature. You always have. You are weak.’_

_‘I’m not! It is our choices which define us.’_

_‘Too true, Mr. Potter. Yet you choose to be that which you are not meant to be.’_

_‘You think I should choose to be a Dark Lord_?’ as soon as the incredulous thought escaped, Harry wished he could call it back. He honestly didn’t want to know what the barmy Hat would say.

The Sorting Hat’s laugh tickled his mind. ‘ _I heard the last thought too, Mr. Potter. I am most assuredly not barmy, songs created out of boredom notwithstanding. Be assured, however, I will not tell you to become a Dark Lord. The choice is yours and yours alone.’_

_‘But you believe I should become a Dark Wizard?’_

_“You should accept yourself as you are, Mr. Potter. You are a Dark Wizard. I haven’t seen anybody in years, including the late Mr. Riddle, with a natural affinity toward Necromancy.’_

_‘What!?’_

_‘Necromancy, Mr. Potter. Or do you believe it is natural for people to talk to their dead family_?’ Harry could hear the Hat smirking. ‘ _You are keeper of the Deathly Hallows, are you not? Master of Death? Did you not use the Wand of Destiny to resurrect our dear Professor Snape?’_

_‘I got rid of it afterwards.’_

_‘No, you hid it afterwards. It is still yours, even if you deny its power.’_

_‘You think I should apprentice in Death magic_?’ the fear leaked into the thought loud and clear.

‘ _Of course not, Mr. Potter. How absurd! You killed the only practicing Necromancer to pass through the halls in centuries.’_

_‘Then what are you saying?’_

_‘You need a mentor who will nurture your Dark side, but teach you to balance it with your Light. One who truly understands both.’_

_‘You are apprenticing me with Snape, aren’t you_?’ he deduced with a heavy sigh.

‘ _He can make you great.’_

_‘I don’t want to be great.’_

_‘He can help you become powerful.’_

_‘I don’t want to be powerful.’_

_‘Under no circumstances would he let you rise as a new Dark Lord.’_

_‘Damn,_ ’ Harry swore, knowing the manipulative Hat had won. ‘ _He’s going to kill me.’_

_‘I think not.’_

_‘He hates me.’_

_‘Not to be contrary, Mr. Potter._ ” Harry let out a bitter snort. The Hat was one of the most contrary things he’d ever spoken to. ‘ _However_ ,’ the Hat continued, ‘ _I was specifically asked to test your compatibility with Severus Snape.’_

_‘By who_?’ Harry asked suspiciously.

‘ _By your new mentor.’_

_‘Really?’_

_‘Yes.’_

_‘My new… you’ve already made your decision, haven’t you?’_

_‘Yes.’_

_‘Do I get a choice this time?’_

_“Whether you admit it or not, Mr. Potter, you’ve already made it_.’

Harry yanked the hat from his head. He only spoke five words before shoving the Sorting Hat into McGonagall’s hands and fleeing her office. “He’s going to kill me.”

He said nothing as he entered the dorms, much to the annoyance of his classmates. Thankfully, most his friends were used to his moods, so nobody disturbed him when he barricaded himself in his room. He skipped lunch. He doubted he’d be hungry anytime soon, but he figured he’d nick something from the kitchens if he got hungry before dinner.

His friends’ distance could only last so long. Or, more accurately, until Ron returned from his appointment with the Hat. “What did it say?” Harry’s best friend asked from the doorway. Harry rolled over to glare and saw Hermione, Ron, Neville, Draco and Daphne all waiting anxiously in the hallway.

“It said a lot,” was Harry’s vague answer. He sat up and gestured for everyone to come in. “What’d it tell you?” he asked Ron.

“Hat’s barking, mate. Talked about chess the whole bloody time.”

Harry laughed along with the red-head. He and Ron might not be as close as they once were, but something about the other Gryffindor simply made stress easier to deal with. “So,” he said, stifling his giggles, “it didn’t actually tell you anything?”

“No. Stupid Hat.”

Harry shared a grin with him as he glanced around the room, wondering what, exactly, he should tell his friends. Friends; these people were all his friends. He gave an inward chuckle at the room filled with Gryffindors and Slytherins. “Where’s Zabini?” he asked, realizing a third of the Slytherins were missing.

“Still at his interview,” Draco answered, sounding bored. “He should return any minute.”

The words had barely left Malfoy’s mouth when the tall, dark-skinned boy stormed into the room looking thunderous. “Potter,” he scowled, “why didn’t you let that blasted thing catch fire!?”

Hermione gasped, clearly appalled. Draco, Daphne and Harry all giggled. “Ah, poor Blaise,” Daphne crooned mockingly, “Did the mean ol’ Hat pick on you?” She pat the bed next to her. “Come on, sweetie. Sit. Tell me all about it.”

Blaise collapsed onto Ron’s bed dramatically. He curled up, almost in Daphne’s lap, as the girl jokingly rocked him back and forth. “It talked about my _Father_ the entire time.”

Daphne’s roar of laughter knocked the boy from her chest. Draco laughed so hard he fell over backwards on Harry’s bed, sprawled across the Gryffindor’s knees. The four non-Slytherins shared a confused look.

“It’s not funny!” Zabini pouted, though the corner of his lip was trying to twitch into a smile.

“Yes, Blaise, it really is,” Daphne giggled as she wiped her eyes.

“Um?” Harry said stupidly.

Draco was still snickering as he sat up and tried to explain. “ _Madame Zabini_ is currently on her sixth marriage.”

“Seventh,” Blaise corrected, “I think.”

“You don’t know?” asked Hermione, looking mildly scandalized.

“She pays somebody in the Ministry to destroy the records afterwards, so there is no trace of _any_ of the marriages.”

“Except for Blaise, of course,” said Daphne with an evil grin.

“Bloody witch won’t tell me which one is my real father. I’ve been trying to figure it out for years, but she keeps changing the order of husbands and she’s _always_ lied about her age. Currently, she would have been twelve when she had me. I’m doubting that, since she’s been the same age for five years now.”

“Didn’t you have it narrowed down to one of her first three husbands?” Draco asked, still trying to compose himself.

“I did. But turns out Bernard was her fourth. _Apparently_ , she never thought to mention the annulled Gypsy wedding she was part of after she divorced Montgomery.” For some reason, that set Draco off giggling again.

“I always knew Slytherins were mental,” Ron muttered as he watched his giggling classmates.

“Actually, Weasley, Mother was a Ravenclaw,” Zabini announced proudly.

“Smart woman,” Daphne stated with a hiccup, “Burying all her marriages.”

“Metaphorically burying,” Zabini corrected. “Only two of them died. Maybe three. She’s a bit sketchy on what happened to Alfred.”

Harry filed that information away for later. “Um,” he said cautiously, “did the Sorting Hat know who your dad was?”

“Oh, the bloody Hat _claimed_ to know. Blasted thing refused to tell me. Said mothers always know best.”

Draco howled. Even Hermione was giggling. Harry watched all of them, shared a confused look with Ron, and stifled his own snickers. Perhaps, he decided, there were worse things he could’ve been told.

****

*************

The Hogwarts Staff lounge was packed. Extra chairs piled around the table and into the corners of the room rather haphazardly. Rarely were _all_ the staff members present for a meeting, though the presence of Harry Potter as a student had ensured more teacher conferences than previous years. The reopening of Fifth House, however, left a excited energy crackling through the air that had been absent whenever they’d met to discuss the Potter boy. Then, the meetings were solemn, fearful, where now there was excitement and expectation. After all, most the professors were quite pleased at having an apprentice. The anticipation was only heightened as each took another turn with the Sorting Hat.

“Shall we begin at the top of the list?” Minerva asked after calling the meeting to order. She made a small note on the piece of parchment in front of her. “Hannah Abbot. I believe she was the only student you spoke to, Arabella, wasn’t she?”

“Oh, yes,” the tiny squib said cheerfully. “Lovely girl. Such a bright personality.”

“Good, because the rest of her is pretty dim,” Severus Snape murmured to Lucius. Malfoy smirked but Minerva, overhearing her colleague, glared fiercely. She was rather thoroughly ignored by the two Slytherins.

“I gather you are pleased with the placement, Arabella?”

“Quite.”

“Good. Moving along, then. Terry Boot?”

“I believe there were several students qualified for the Arithmancy position,” Victor Vector said proudly. “However, Terry’s ward work is top notch. I would be quite pleased with him.”

“You are choosing an apprentice, Vector, not a lover,” Severus drawled snidely. Victor flushed a dark red.

“Mandy Brocklehurst,” Minerva said quickly to forestall any arguments.

“I spoke with her,” said Reginald Morphus, the newly appointed Transfiguration teacher and Head of Gryffindor. “She is rather passionate about all her studies, but seems to hold a keen interest in Transfiguration. She’s currently reading a tome on the theory behind the Animagus Transformation.”

Minerva smiled at her replacement. Reginald was one of her first students when she began teaching at Hogwarts. “With your tutelage, I do believe she will be able to master it successfully,” she said proudly.

“Just what we need, more animals prowling the castle.” Severus glared at Arabella. The squib smiled beatifically. 

“Lavender Brown,” Minerva announced.

“Divination,” several teachers retorted without pause.

“Yes, yes, of course. However, I foresee troubles arising —“

“Firenze is returning after the weekend,” Minerva interrupted Sybil. “Both Ms. Brown _and_ Ms. Patil will apprentice in Divinations.”

“Which Ms. Patil?” Aurora Sinistra interjected.

“Pavarti, of course. The Hat seemed to believe Padma would be best served mentoring with you, Aurora.”

“She does not share the Sight with her twin,” Sybil Trelawny said airily. “She sees only the stars, but Pavarti can see the future in them.”

“Which is why she will be mainly taught by Firenze,” Minerva announced smugly. Sybil wilted slightly in her chair and thankfully stayed quiet. “Now, back to the list. Justin Finch-Fletchley?”

“He will be a charming apprentice,” Filius Flitwick said happily. Everyone glared at the chipper wizard’s pun.

Minerva tapped her quill against the list several times. “The next applicant is a difficult placement.”

“The Know-it-all,” Severus sneered without even glancing down at his parchment.

“ _Ms. Granger_ qualified for nine separate classes,” Minerva said, stressing the name and glaring pointedly at Severus over the top of her glasses.

“ _Nine_!?” Vector asked, incredulously.

“Nine,” Minerva confirmed.

“Headmistress, I know she qualified for Muggle Studies - quite well, according to the Hat - but she never actually took the course, did she?” Arabella Figg asked with a small frown.

“She did during her third year,” Minerva explained with a patience usually only afforded to her Gryffindors. “In fact, she took so many classes Albus needed to acquire a Time-Turner for her. Unfortunately, the stress was a bit much for the girl so she dropped the class.”

“Because she’s Muggleborn. It was a waste.”

“Expanding one’s knowledge is never _wasteful_ , Severus,” Minerva said primly. 

Snape snorted. “So Albus informed me. For _years_.”

“Then you should cease tormenting Ms. Granger for her attempts to better herself.”

“If she were a trifle less pedantic, I might.”

“Rather rich, coming from you, Severus,” Lucius drawled with a smirk.

“I’ll have you know —“

“Enough!” Minerva said, raising her voice until it was almost a shout. “I would not like to be here all night, Severus, so please desist with your commentary!”

Snape huffed and folded his arms across his chest irritably. However, he remained quiet.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “Now to return to the subject of Ms. Granger. Several of her possible placements have already been taken by other students. It is quite possible, if we continue down the list, a default position may become apparent.”

“Did the Sorting Hat suggest an optimal placement for the girl?” Lucius asked in a bored tone.

“You know it did,” Minerva said coldly, glaring at the Dark Wizard.

“Then place her there.” Lucius’ drawl was just as frosty.

“But —“

“Place. Her. There.” Few people dared order the Head of Hogwarts around; Lucius Malfoy was one of those people.

“Your pet Gryffindor will be fine, Minerva.” Severus’ tone tried for reassuring and hit somewhere around annoyed instead. “Now, as you stated, we do not wish to be here all night. So, if you would be so kind, _move on_.”

Minerva acquiesced unhappily. “Daphne Greengrass?”

“A marvel when it comes to Ancient Runes,” Henry Haggall announced. “I was most pleased she was one of the returning Slytherins. She has been working on a thesis combining Arithmancy and Runes. You would be amazed, Victor. She has actually managed to boost the power field of certain wards using runic sigils.”

“That _is_ fascinating! Has she calculated in a stabilizing variable?”

“Not as of yet. The wards collapse rather quickly.”

“Perhaps Terry could help Ms. Greengrass with the project. If they —“

“Yes, yes. I’m sure it is all quite fascinating,” Severus interrupted with a sneer. “Next?”

“Wayne Hopkins,” Minerva said quickly since it looked like Victor was about to start yelling at his colleague. Idly, she wondered when she’d lost complete control of the meeting around her.

“Youn’ Wayne is brilliant with creatures, he is.” Hagrid’s voice boomed through the room. “One of the on’y student I ‘ave that gotta unicorn to ‘proach him.” Hagrid immediately blushed as he realized what he’d implied. “Shouldn’ve said that.”

“All right, then.” Minerva hid a laugh by sipping her tea. “I don’t believe we need to discuss Neville Longbottom?”

“Let’s not,” Severus drawled as Pomona Sprout sighed, ‘He’s a green man!’ for the tenth time since she’d talked to the Hat.

“Draco Malfoy.”

The room grew rather quiet. Nobody wanted to say anything about young Malfoy while his father was present. “He _was_ one of my best students,” Severus stated with a meaningful look at Horace Slughorn.

“He does have _some_ skill in the area,” Horace hedged.

“I’d like to take him.”

Everyone turned at the voice, surprised to see Poppy Pomfrey bustling into the room. “Narcissa Black was a natural Healer. I discovered her gift when she was a student here,” the nurse said briskly.

“My wife was never formally trained,” Lucius pointed out.

“True. But she passed her abilities on to your son. Comparatively, his gift is rather small. However, with his talent in Potions and the Dark Arts, he has great potential in the field of Mediwizardry.”

Lucius puffed up with pride while everyone else gasped. “You cannot be thinking of teaching the boy Dark Arts!” Minerva exclaimed.

“Oh, tosh. I doubt there is much I _could_ teach the boy which he doesn’t already know. But, yes, study of Dark Magical _Theory_ would be part of his curriculum.”

“I forbid it!”

“With all due respect, Minerva,” Poppy began curtly, “none of us batted an eyelash when Albus hid young Potter behind blood wards every year.”

“It was the safest place for him,” Minerva stated firmly.

“Because blood wards are Dark magic,” Poppy argued. “The Dark Arts might have some of the most destructive spells in our history, but they also have some of the strongest protection spells as well.”

“Let’s not forget that ignorance is not always bliss,” Lucius drawled, pulling all eyes from the nurse to him. “Dumbledore repeatedly told Harry about the ‘old magic’ Lily Potter cast and disguised the true nature of the spell in his talks about the power of love. _All_ sacrificial magic is considered Dark. I find it hypocritical that we teach our young the horror of Dark Arts while we celebrate what they bring to us.”

Poppy was nodding emphatically. “Even a simple blood replenishing potion - common for any infirmary - has its roots in Dark magic.”

Minerva reluctantly wrote Poppy’s name down next to ‘Draco Malfoy’ on her list. She sighed heavily and wished there was whiskey in her tea. She dreaded what Albus’ portrait was going to say to her. Allowing the Dark Arts to be taught at Hogwarts! _Again!_

“Please make sure young Mr. Malfoy knows _not_ to spread tales of _those_ lessons, Poppy,” Minerva ordered while she glanced at the rest of the list. “I believe we have already covered the Patil twins?” she paused for the affirmative response. “Moving along then… Harry Potter.”

“He’s mine,” Snape snarled the words.

Minerva took off her glasses and studied her colleague carefully. “Harry is quite brilliant in Defense, Severus, but I know how you feel about the boy.”

Severus leveled her with a glare.

“You argued with the Sorting Hat about him for some time,” Minerva pointed out. “I cannot believe you are happy with such a placement.”

“I _discussed_ Potter with the Hat for some time, yes. As always, it appears the Boy-who-Lived requires special treatment.”

“Which one of his other professors can give him,” the Headmistress argued. “If need be, I’ll take him on myself.”

“Dammit, Minerva!” Severus shouted before visibly forcing himself calm. He glanced at the ceiling, counting to ten, and pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off his headache. When he looked at Minerva again, the determination was set in every line of his face and his onyx eyes were hard. “Potter is mine,” he fairly growled the words through his clenched teeth.

Minerva met his challenging gaze before giving a slow nod.

“Should I be giving you the same advice you gave Vector?” Lucius drawled softly. Snape turned to his friend, eyes wide and jaw slack, before he purposefully blanked his features. Lucius smirked. “I do so love surprising you, old friend. Bit possessive of the boy, are you?” 

“I’m not— “ Severus sighed. “How well do you know Potter, Lucius? Don’t think I failed to notice your familiarity in addressing him earlier.”

Lucius grinned. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. “Ah, yes. Harry took a perverse pleasure in calling me by my given name. Ironic, really, as he is far closer to my son whom he still calls ‘Malfoy.’ I began to… return the favor. At Narcissa’s insistence, I even began to say it _nicely_.”

Severus snorted his amusement. Few knew the power Narcissa held over the arrogant aristocrat. Lucius was, in a word, whipped. He glanced surreptitiously at the rest of his co-workers before casting _Muffliato_ around himself and his colleague.

“That’s settled, then,” Minerva was saying. “Lisa Turpin will apprentice in Magical Archiving and Library Studies. I will inform Penny tomorrow. I’m sure she will be delighted. Onto the matter of Ronald Weasley. The Hat—“

Severus tuned out, not really caring what happened to the Weasley boy. Even though they were surrounded by a privacy spell, he still tried to be covert as he addressed the former Death Eater next to him. “How much do you know of Potter’s actions during the war?” he asked carefully.

Lucius gave a small smirk. “More than most.”

“So… you know what the Hat told me. Why I was… adamant… about his placement?”

“I do.” Lucius looked at his old friend, cold eyes assessing him. “You’ll be good for the boy. And vice versa. I’d ignore the advice you gave Vector. It would do you a world of good, my friend.”

“The _boy_ is nothing more than a spoiled brat.”

The anger that flashed across Lucius’ face shocked Severus. He’d barely gotten a chance to process it before Lucius began talking, voice tight and brittle with anger. “Listen to me well, Severus,” he snarled quietly, “because I will only tell you this once. My son is a spoiled brat; Harry Potter is not. He sacrificed his own life for every witch and wizard here and he did so knowingly. Yes, miraculously, Harry lived. But he didn’t expect to. You have no idea how many nights Narcissa comforted that boy through nightmares; nightmares _we_ caused. He would wake up screaming, believing he was still in _my_ manor being tortured. The next day he’d walk into court to plead for my life.”

“I never said he wasn’t disgustingly noble,” Severus said with a sneer. “And which one of us did you say was possessive of him?”

“Unlike you, I don’t deny it,” Lucius replied, smiling at Snape’s startled look. “Do you still need convincing, old friend?” He didn’t even wait for Severus to say anything before continuing. “We were still confined to his house during Yule. All our accounts were frozen. He opened his vault to Narcissa so she could buy us presents. He said he knew how sad Christmas was when you were locked up and had no gifts. Does that sound _spoiled_ to you, Severus? Those filthy Muggles never gave him a damn thing. Except, apparently, one year when they gave him a light bulb so he would quit crying because he was scared of the dark. I believe he told Narcissa he was around five at the time. Next time, make certain you know what you are talking about before insulting him.”

“I… didn’t know.”

“You didn’t want to know, Severus.” Lucius ended the _Muffliato_ and seemingly became absorbed in the meeting. Severus doubted he really was. Lucius was seething. Severus barely heard Horace accept Blaise Zabini as his apprentice. Idly, he wondered if Slughorn would ever tell Blaise how close he was to the boy’s father.

Severus brushed off Minerva’s invite to tea, having no desire to rehash the entire meeting. He made his way towards his dungeons slowly, mind full of thoughts he did not want to be thinking of. Thoughts that were forcibly returned to the forefront when he saw a small figure silhouetted in one of the castle’s window seats. Even in the darkened corridor, he had no difficulty identifying the student.

“Potter,” he said carefully, “shouldn’t you be in your dorms?”

“Fifth house doesn’t have strict curfew, Professor,” the boy said without even looking at him. 

“Nevertheless,” Severus said, urging the boy to simply go away. Potter turned to look at him; his pale cheeks were lined with stress and worry and his normally bright eyes dull and haunted.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said simply.

Severus was unable to make a scathing comment. Instead, he found himself quietly asking, “Would you like a potion?”

“No thanks. They leave me foggy. I try not to take them unless I have to.”

He nodded, vaguely disturbed by the answer. “Good-night, Potter,” he said, turning away quickly. He barely heard the polite, “Good-night, Professor.”

As he continued his way down to the dungeons, Severus scanned years of memory, looking for what Lucius had alluded to. He clearly saw so many signs of neglect and abuse in regards to Harry Potter. How could he have been so wrong?

He took the Dreamless Sleep potion he’d offered to Potter. He didn’t want the familiar nightmare of disappointed green eyes haunting him. Especially now that there would be two pair accusing him.


	5. History of Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fifth house students learn who their mentors are, as well as who the portraits sharing their dorm belong to.

**Chapter 5 — History of Harry**  
For once, the students were awake bright and early. All of Fifth House was gathered in the Common Room, anxiously awaiting breakfast. They had recapped their conversations with the Hat repeatedly and had moved on to speculating how they would be told who their new mentors were. The ideas were pure conjecture. They ranged from the fanciful (Apprenticeship contacts appearing with their breakfast plates) to the mundane (McGonagall making a speech.) In the end, they were all wrong. The meal was completely uneventful.

It wasn’t until after the last of the food was vanished from the plates that Snape descended from the Head Table with a stack of envelopes in his hand. “I suggest you open these in your common room,” he drawled. “Unless you want your newly acquired Mentor to know what you truly think of them.” The last words were accompanied with a sneer in Harry’s direction.

Never before had a Hogwarts’ table cleared so quickly. The students raced to the dorms, tearing into the envelopes before they even gone through the entrance portal. “Yes!” Ron yelled, punching the air in his excitement. “Madame Hooch! They want me to teach the history of Quidditch and help coach strategy to the House teams!”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re right - the Hat is barmy. Talked to you about chess to prove you’d be a brilliant Quidditch coach.”

“Do you really think I’ll be brilliant?”

Harry’s answer was drowned out by excited shrieking. Lavender and Pavarti were hugging each other, dancing around in circles. “We both got it!” they shouted, their earlier fight completely forgotten.

“Herbology!” Neville crowed over the noise the two witches were making. Harry clapped his friend on the back.

“As if there were any doubt, Nev.”

“What about you, ‘Mione?” Ron shouted over the noise.

Instead of answering, Hermione dropped her parchment on Draco’s lap. Malfoy read it quickly and burst out laughing. Hermione glared at the Slytherin, but the effect was ruined by the bright flush staining her cheeks. Ron snatched the parchment from where it had fluttered to the floor. “Blimey!” he exclaimed. “History of Magic! And _Lucius Malfoy_ is going to tutor _you_ in Wizarding Etiquette and Law!”

“It’s bloody perfect!” Draco crooned.

“I fail to see what you think is so funny, Malfoy,” Hermione said snottily.

“My _father_ , right-hand to the Dark Lord himself, is going to mentor a Mudblood!”

Several people gasped while others - namely Ron - reached for their wands. “You don’t get it,” Draco said, wiping his eyes. “Granger here is _everything_ Father expects from Purebloods. She’s powerful, smart, pro-active. I’ve _yet_ to hear of her learning a Wizarding tradition without researching it down to the footnotes!” He looked at Hermione with shining silver eyes. “You destroy every one of his previously held beliefs. It’s brilliant because _you_ are brilliant!”

“Really?” Hermione asked, blush spreading.

“Oh, fishing for compliments?” Draco teased the girl. “I can tell we Malfoys are going to be a bad influence on you already.”

“Thanks, Draco.” Hermione sounded rather shy. Impulsively, she grabbed the Slytherin in a hug. Harry snorted at the rapidity of Draco’s blush while Ron made a horrifically irritated choking sound.

“What about you, Harry?” Hermione asked, as she moved to sit on the arm of his chair. Wordlessly, Harry offered up the envelope. “You haven’t even opened it yet!?” Hermione exclaimed.

“Don’t need to,” Harry muttered. “I know what it says.” He motioned for Hermione to open the letter herself. There was only one line written. ‘ _Potter, I expect to see you in my office tonight after dinner._ ’ It was signed ‘SS’.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Ron said, while reading over his girlfriend’s shoulder. “ _You_ got apprenticed to _Snape_!”

The Common Room quieted at Ron’s yell. Several people looked at Harry in sympathy.

“I don’t envy you, Harry, but it makes sense,” Neville said softly. “You were brilliant in the DA. You taught _me_ ,” he added with a self-depreciating laugh. Former DA students all piped up to tell their own stories of the Defense group to the Fifth House students who hadn’t been part of it.

“I think they are pleased, Godric,” a women’s voice interrupted. Harry glanced up, as did a few other, and saw the previously blank pictures frames each had a figure in them.

“Y-you’re Helga Hufflepuff!” Hannah Abbot yelled in excitement.

The portly woman gave an elegant curtsy. “Indeed, I am.”

“I didn’t know the Founders had portraits!” Hermione said. She looked at the four portraits, clearly enthralled. “Why didn’t I know that!?”

“Must’ve been in the one library book you never read,” Ron chuckled.

“Where have you been?” someone shouted.

“Why are you _here_?” Draco asked, immediately flushing when he realized how rude it sounded. “I mean, why here instead of the Headmaster’s office or something?”

“My dear boy, Fifth House has _always_ been our pride and joy,” Godric said fondly.

“Best and the brightest,” added Rowena Ravenclaw.

“Come now, don’t be shy. We want to learn all about you,” Helga coaxed.

“What house were each of you in?” asked Godric.

“Are you excited about your studies?” Rowena inquired, sounding just as excited herself.

All the Fifth House students began talking at once, vying for the portrait’s attentions. All of them, that is, but Harry. Slowly, they gravitated into clustered groups around the paintings while Harry stayed on the couch, staring into the flames of the fireplace.

“What is wrong with him?” Salazar Slytherin asked the students around him.

“He’s sulking,” Blaise stated, glaring at Harry. “He doesn’t like his placement. I guess the Gryffindor Golden Boy is too good to apprentice with the Head of Slytherin. Ow!” he added when Daphne slapped him across the back of his head.

“Don’t be an arse,” Draco ordered.

“Besides,” Daphne lectured haughtily, “Potter has done more to redeem our House than anybody.”

“Wait a minute,” the Founder said, “why did my House need _redeeming_?”

“Well, ah, there was a war,” Blaise said vaguely.

Hermione, who’d been walking past the group toward Harry scoffed. “Honestly, Zabini,” she said with complete exasperation, “his portrait has been isolated for over fifty years and the best you can do is ‘there was a war’?” She looked up at the portrait in embarrassment. Draco wondered if she was embarrassed for by Zabini’s inanity or because she was a Muggleborn talking to Salazar Slytherin. She did, though, drop a slight curtsy and introduce herself.

Salazar gave a deep bow. “Perhaps you can enlightenment me about this war, young lady.”

“I would be honored, sir.” Hermione glanced at Harry before casting several privacy spells around the immediate area. “I would ask that you share what I say with the rest of the Founders. I don’t want Harry being pestered.”

“She’s protective of him,” Draco stated needlessly.

“Somebody has to be or Harry would be dead!” she snapped. Salazar’s eyebrows rose at the sharp words.

“Back down, Granger,” Blaise warned. “Draco didn’t mean any insult. We all know what Potter’s been through.”

“You don’t.” Hermione’s eyes were tearing up. “You don’t understand.”

“Yes, Granger, I do,” Draco said softly. He motioned for Blaise and Daphne to leave before continuing. “I lived with him, remember? Mother cancelled his Silencing Charms every night because of his nightmares. I _know_ Potter is… haunted.”

“I’m sorry, Malfoy,” the young witch apologized, her eyes still watery. “I guess I _am_ a bit overprotective.”

“A bit,” Draco said with a smirk.

“You would be too, if you’d been through so much with him.”

“No, I wouldn’t. He’d be dead. Potter made the right choice.”

Hermione realized how much the admission cost the Slytherin. Hesitantly, she reached over and squeezed his hand.

“Not to interrupt a touching moment, but I believe I was waiting for an explanation.”

Hermione looked up at the portrait, surprise etched in every line of her face, before giggling softly. “I didn’t realize ‘snark’ was a House quality,” she laughed as she summoned a chair. She sat regally as she faced the fiercest of the Founders.

“Fifth House closed in 1943. Most historians speculate Headmaster Dippet stopped the apprenticeship program in order to increase enrollment in his brother’s University. I do not. I think he closed Fifth House because Albus Dumbledore suggested it.”

“Ah, I remember Albus,” Slytherin said, with a fond smile. “How is the old man these days?”

“Dead, sir,” Hermione said sadly. “He died… in the war.” She glanced across the room toward her friend. “It is one of the things that haunts Harry. He witnessed it.”

“He what?” Draco’s eyes were wide. “Potter saw—“

“Yes. You didn’t know?”

Draco shook his head mutely.

“How did he die?” Slytherin asked, obviously aware of the undercurrent of tension wrapping the two students.

“The Dark Lord ordered me to kill me,” Draco said bluntly. “I-I couldn’t. Severus- I mean, Professor Snape- did it. To save me.”

“Not _just_ to save you, Malfoy. The Headmaster ordered him to. He needed to cement his position as a spy. Unfortunately, or fortunately since it helped Dumbledore’s plans, Harry was with him in the Astronomy Tower when you confronted him. He petrified Harry and hid him under an invisibility cloak. He saw the whole thing.”

“No wonder he attacked Severus like that.” Draco frowned slightly before adding, “But he saved both our lives.” He laughed bitterly. “Ever the noble bloody Gryffindor, isn’t he?”

“Damn right, he is,” Hermione said fiercely before covering her mouth. “Sorry, sir,” she blushed up at the portrait.

“Quite alright, young lady. I enjoy your spirit. Now, why don’t you tell me of this war from the beginning?”

Hermione nodded. She paused to gather her thoughts for a moment. “In 1945, a student named Tom Riddle graduated from Hogwarts. I believe Fifth House was closed to limit his access to your portrait. Riddle considered himself your heir.”

“Doubtful. I had no heir. My wife and unborn were killed by Muggles shortly before I left Hogwarts.”

“Which is why you hate Muggleborns,” Hermione stated bluntly.

“No. It is why _I hate historians_!” Salazar yelled, making a rude gesture toward Rowena’s portrait. Lady Ravenclaw smiled sweetly and waved. “I was young and distraught,” Slytherin continued. “I made some foolish comments and left to mourn in private. I was killed before I could return to Hogwarts. My portrait did not awaken until all four of us had passed. By then, I was already considered a bigoted bastard by the students.”

“Seriously?” Hermione asked, looking rather flabbergasted.

“Yes.”

“Then why did you hide a Basilisk in the school?”

“What!? That’s preposterous! Why would I hide a Basilisk… oh, for Merlin’s sake.” Salazar started hissing furiously for a few moments. “Is that why Albus came in here right before they closed Fifth House asking about some monster in the Chamber of Secrets?”

“Yes. There was a Basilisk in it. Riddle let it out in his sixth year. It killed a student. She still haunts the bathroom where the Chamber opens.”

“Is that how Myrtle died?” Draco asked incredulous. At the same time, and in the same tone, Salazar asked, “Why would I put the entrance in a bathroom?”

“I always wondered the same thing, sir,” Hermione stated before turning to Draco. “How do you know Myrtle? She rarely leaves the loo.”

“Potter didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

“Well… then I’m not going to.”

Hermione huffed.

“Oh!” Salazar exclaimed, interrupting the conversation. The two students looked at him expectantly. A tint of pink was appearing on the painted cheeks. Draco arched a brow as he watched. Was Slytherin _blushing_? 

“I think I know where the Basilisk came from,” he explained sheepishly. “I was working on a potion, and it required fluid from a Basilisk egg. I thought it was sterile. Guess I was wrong.”

“You _guess_ you were wrong?!” Hermione shrieked. “I spent months _petrified_ by that thing and you _guess_ you were wrong!?”

Salazar was _definitely_ blushing. He tried to hide it with a deep bow. “My deepest apologies, my dear lady.”

Hermione just huffed irritably again.

“Out of curiosity,” Slytherin said with a bit of a frown, “I thought you said Riddle attended Hogwarts many years ago. Was the Basilisk loose for all that time?”

“No. He sealed it back in the Chamber. It wasn’t released again until our second year. I was… getting ahead of my narrative.”

“Quite all right, dear lady. Again, you have my apologies. Please continue.”

“I will try to be brief.”

“ _Please_ ,” Draco whined.

“Riddle rose to power as the Dark Lord Voldemort during the 1970s. He gathered followers to him, mainly Slytherins since he claimed to be your Heir. By 1980, he’d amassed a rather large army, known as the Death Eaters. Then, he learned of a prophecy. It said a child, a boy, was to be born with the power to defeat him.”

“This is where Harry Potter, the Boy-who-Lived, Chosen One Extraordinaire, enters the story,” Draco interjected with a patently false sneer. Neither student noticed Salazar giving Harry a sharp, and calculating, look.

“It could have been Neville,” Hermione said, smirking at Draco.

“Longbottom!? I could have grown up with stories about _Longbottom_!?”

Hermione absently nodded, ignoring him as she turned back to Slytherin. “Shall I continue?”

“Please. Only, I have a question. Why do they call him the ‘Boy-who-Lived’?

“I was getting to that, sir.” Hermione smiled but it dimmed quickly. “Voldemort never heard the entire prophecy. Since he didn’t, he went after Harry and his family.”

“Do you know of this prophecy?”

“I do,” Hermione said. Draco, though, shook his head. The Gryffindor quickly recited the words. 

Draco gaped. “Wait… mark him as his equal? Potter has as much power as the Dark Lord?”

“In theory, yes.”

“Oh, sweet Salazar… I used to bully him!” Both Slytherin and Hermione laughed. Draco blushed when he realized what epithet he’d used.

“If Voldemort had known the whole prophecy, he’d never have gone after Harry because it was the attack which marked him as his equal.”

“What happened?” Salazar asked. He was studying Harry, his expression remorseful and sad.

“Dumbledore tried to save them. He hid the Potters under a _Fidelius_ , but they were betrayed. Voldemort killed Harry’s dad. Tried to kill Harry, but his mother sacrificed herself instead. It protected Harry’s life. Voldemort cast the Killing Curse at him, but it rebounded.”

“How old was he?”

“Little over a year.”

“Poor boy. An orphan and a killer… at such a young age.”

“Not a killer,” Hermione said, sparing a glance for her friend. “Not yet.”

“”The Dark Lord made a Horcrux,” Draco explained. He ignored Hermione’s shocked expression. “Several, actually.” 

“He split his soul?” Salazar asked, clearly disgusted.

“Seven times. Harry had to find them all.” She gave Slytherin a pointed glare. “One of those Horcruxes possessed a student. She opened the Chamber and let _your_ Basilisk out.”

“Again… my apologies.”

“That’s all right,” Hermione said with false cheer. “It’s dead now.”

“Potter killed it,” Draco said flatly.

“How old was he?”

“Twelve.”

“You should have known it wasn’t _mine_. A Basilisk of such age would be far too much for a child to battle.”

“I saw the corpse,” Hermione said wryly. “It’s about sixty feet long.”

“Oh… dear. How—“

“Sword of Gryffindor through the roof of its mouth. Harry took a fang in the arm, but was saved by a phoenix.”

“Thus becoming the Boy-who-Lived-Again.”

“You really don’t want to play that game,” Draco advised. “It becomes monotonous.”

“Besides which, I skipped first year when Harry saved a Philosopher’s Stone from a teacher who had Voldemort growing out of the back of his head.”

“I never did thank Potter for killing Quirrell.”

“I don’t know… Quirrell wasn’t a _bad_ teacher. Except for the stutter,” Hermione admitted with slight hesitation.

“And the fact that he had the Dark Lord hiding under his turban.”

“True. Lupin was better.”

“Lupin was a werewolf.”

“But still a good teacher.”

“He tried to _eat_ Potter.”

“It wasn’t his fault!”

“Yes, it was! Severus made a perfectly good batch of Wolfsbane for him and he _forgot_. I consider that Lupin’s fault.”

“There were extenuating circumstances. Remus thought Harry’s godfather was going to try and kill him. He _forgot_ because he was trying to save Harry’s life!”

“Pardon me,” Salazar interrupted, making both students flush when they realized they’d forgotten about the Founder’s presence during their argument. “I am curious,” Slytherin continued when he had their attention. “You mention saving him from his godfather. Are you saying on top of all… this… that the boy’s relations where abusive?”

“No!” Hermione exclaimed. “Sirius was great! He loved Harry!”

“The aunt and uncle who actually raised him, on the other hand, are the type of Muggles you want to _Crucio_ ,” Draco snarled. He gave Salazar a maliciously gleeful look. “And I am being completely honest with that statement. We’re talking abuse, neglect, starvation—“

“H-he told you about the Dursleys?” Hermione asked, rather startled.

“No,” Draco said shortly. “He told Mother.”

“Oh.”

“Mother told me.”

“Sort of figured that out for myself, thanks.”

“Why didn’t he live with his godfather?” Salazar asked curiously.

“Er…” Hermione looked flustered.

“Sirius Black was a convicted felon—“

“Accused!” Hermione interjected. “Falsely accused!”

“ _Anyway_ , Potter’s godfather - my cousin, actually - was _accused_ of betraying the _Fidelius_ that Potter’s family hid under.”

“ _Actually_ , he was accused of mass murder.”

“Which is far worse but much less personal,” Draco said with an amused smirk.

“You are such a prat,” Hermione declared hotly.

“How long have you two been dating?” Salazar said, chuckling at the identical blushes and gobsmacked expression. “Carry on,” he ordered, still snickering.

It took Hermione a moment to recollect her thoughts. “Um… Sirius escaped from Azkaban, but was still a wanted fugitive. So Harry couldn’t live with him. Basically, that sums up third year.” She shifted uncomfortably, knowing she was leaving a _lot_ out of her narrative.

“How did the boy’s godfather escape?”

“From Azkaban or the Dementors?” she asked absently.

“What Dementors?”

Hermione flushed in embarrassment. “Sorry, I guess I left that bit out. The Ministry posted Dementors around the school in hopes of catching Sirius.”

“They sent Dementors to a _school_!? Are they mad!?”

“Well… you had Basilisk in the basement.”

“Touche.”

“Speaking of… I’ve been to the Chamber of Secrets—“

“You have!?”

Hermione glared at Draco for interrupting. “Yes,” she said snootily. “I have.” She smirked at Salazar; it was a rather Slytherin expression of contempt. “You really are an egotist. I mean, those statues are a bit over the top. And, really, what type of password is ‘Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.’”

Instead of being angered, Salazar seemed quite amused by her statement. “It worked,” he chuckled. “The others always taught themselves the Parseltongue needed for my passwords, but they refused to say that one. I wanted to keep them away from my library.”

“Th-there’s a Library down there?”

“I’m appalled at you, Granger,” Draco sneered. “I didn’t realized the Famous Know-it-all could even get near a library without studying.”

“I was in a hurry,” Hermione justified. “We only went down there for the Basilisk venom and there _was_ a battle going on up top.”

“There was a battle, at Hogwarts?”

“Sorry, sir. I’m getting ahead of myself again.”

“You are really bad at this,” Draco snickered. “Father will be _so_ disappointed.”

“Shut up, Malfoy. It’s your fault. You keep distracting me!”

Draco merely smirked.

“Where was I?” Hermione huffed.

“Fourth year,” Draco answered with a laugh. “Moody wasn’t a bad professor.”

“Moody turned you into a ferret.”

“Other than that, of course.”

“He was also a Death Eater using Polyjuice potion.”

“Did I not know _anything_ that happened in this school!?”

“Your ignorance is not my problem, Malfoy.”

“Enough flirting,” Salazar ordered, taking great amusement in the rapid blushes again. “What happened to the boy during his Fourth Year?”

“Long story short?”

“Do you think your capable, Granger?” Draco sneered.

“A disguised Death Eater kidnapped Harry. He was chained to a tombstone and his blood forcibly taken to resurrect Voldemort in a corporeal body,” she said, glaring at Draco. “Harry was forced to duel the Dark Lord, but he escaped and even managed to bring home the body of a classmate who’d been killed when he was accidentally captured with Harry.”

“I never did understand why Potter was so worried about that. I mean, Diggory was dead and Potter was dueling for his life. Why take the time to grab him?”

“Cedric asked him to.”

“What?”

“Cedric asked Harry to return his body to his father.”

“Er… is this like how Potter talked to his parents during the final battle?”

Hermione gasped. “He did? He never told me that!”

“Ah, hell. Don’t ask him about it, Granger.”

“I won’t.”

“I’m serious. Don’t.”

“I understand, Malfoy. There are parts of the war _none_ of us talk about.” She couldn’t stop her shudder at remembering the Horcrux she’d destroyed in the Chamber.

“You speak of the war. Did it begin after Riddle was once more fully corporeal?” Salazar asked, bringing the students back to the matter at hand.

“Not really,” Hermione answered uncertainly.

“Yes,” Draco stated firmly.

“You really think so?”

“On your end, no. The Ministry’s refusal to admit the Dark Lord was back affectively stunted all opposition. The Death Eaters, though, used that time wisely. We were able to move people into key positions, allowing for the eventual, relatively easy, seizure of the Ministry.”

“You said ‘we.’”

“I _was_ a Death Eater, Granger.”

“I know.” The young witch looked at her companion for a long moment, studying his relaxed pose and his pointy features. “I like that you don’t deny it,” she said softly.

Draco glanced at her, startled, but she was already looking at Salazar again.

“Malfoy pretty much stated the known problem Harry faced in our Fifth year,” she continued as if nothing untoward had occurred. “The Ministry was actively trying to discredit both Harry and Professor Dumbledore.”

“And the unknown problem?”

“Voldemort was using the link he shared with Harry through his curse scar to send him visions of the people he killed. Harry tried to learn Occlumency. But, well, it is best just to say the lessons were a failure and leave it at that.”

“Even I thought Severus was a git that year.”

“We all were. I blame Umbridge.”

“Good call. She was a toad.”

“True, but you were her toady.”

“Circe, don’t remind me.” Draco sighed heavily. “I was such a prat that year. I was so mad at Potter because my father was thrown back into Azkaban. _My Aunt_ had just killed his godfather. I didn’t even care what he was going through.”

“Malfoy… Draco… you weren’t supposed to,” Hermione said quietly. “Not yet.”

Draco crossed his arms and studied the Gryffindor. “Explain,” he demanded.

“Your parents love you. _Immensely_. So they sheltered you from the brutalities of war.”

“As they should,” Salazar interjected, earning him a smile from Hermione.

“Unfortunately,” she said, “Voldemort didn’t understand the bonds of family. So he used you to punish your father.”

“The Dark Lord thought I would die trying to kill the Headmaster.”

“Yes. But he didn’t realize your mother and godfather would save you because he knew _nothing_ about love.”

“How does that add up to it being all right that I was an unfeeling prick?”

“You grew up hearing about the glory of their allegiance without having to face the harsh reality. It was only once you had, and were at risk, that your parents rethought their prior beliefs. They realized they had something to lose, something precious, and regretted their actions for the first time. Until then, believing anything different - anything good about Harry Potter - would have been going against your family. You couldn’t do that because you love them too.”

“I didn’t think anybody understood,” Draco whispered, blinking rapidly to keep tears from spilling down his cheeks.

“Harry does,” Hermione said, sounding almost sad. “It is why he tried so hard to save all of you. He told me he saw the three of you in the Great Hall, after the final battle. You were huddled together, looking scared and uncertain. All around you were the people mourning those who’d fallen. He decided, then and there, that the Malfoys were not going to be another family destroyed by Voldemort. He told us that night that he intended to keep both you and your father from Azkaban.”

Draco was openly crying now, silent tears streaking down his pale cheeks. Without even thinking about it, Hermione stood and pulled him to her. Draco buried his face in her shoulder, clinging to her as he tried to compose himself.

“Your Harry sounds like a remarkable young man,” Salazar commented softly.

“He really is,” Hermione agreed. She pulled away from the Slytherin in her arms and carefully wiped his cheeks with her thumbs. She smiled nervously and brushed a strand of hair from Draco’s eyes. “Don’t worry,” she promised him, “I cast a Notice-Me-Not some time ago.”

The pale boy pulled away and quickly finished composing himself. “Granger… I … Circe, I don’t know how to say it.”

“You’re welcome, Draco.”

Draco gave her a small grateful smile before hurrying away.

Hermione looked up at the portrait. “May I finish telling you the rest later, sir?”

“Of course, young lady.”

“When you do talk to Harry—“

“I will mention none of this unless he brings it up first,” Salazar promised.

Hermione grinned. “Thank you, sir. Oh, and I’m sorry I thought you were a bastard who wanted me dead.”

Salazar was still cursing at Rowena in Parseltongue when Hermione dropped the privacy spells. She saw Harry chuckle and glance at the portrait. She almost ran over to him, to ask what the Founder was saying, but before she could Harry was once again staring into the fire, obviously lost in his own thoughts.

Hours later, while the rest of the House was at dinner, Harry was again seated in his spot in front of the fire. He was alone in the room, except for the Founders. He was trying, rather unsuccessfully, to clear his mind before his meeting with Snape.

“Still brooding, young savior?” Salazar asked, breaking Harry’s concentration but gaining his attention. “Are you truly so upset by your placement with my Head of House?”

Harry stretched out across the couch, head resting on the arm so he could see the portrait easier. “Not really,” he admitted. “I mean, Snape’s a git, and he hates me, but I know I can learn a lot from him.”

“Then may I inquire why your are so upset?”

Harry glanced at the other Founders who were all pretending to sleep. He gave a slow, satisfied smirk. “ _Because I hate Godric’s hat_ ,” he hissed in Parseltongue.

A delighted smile lit Salazar’s face before he started laughing. “I think I will enjoy talking to you, Harry Potter,” he said with a bow.

“Brilliant.” Harry smiled broadly. “Can I call you Sal?”

*****************


	6. Points for Potter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry’s first meeting with his Mentor does not go at all like he expected.

** Chapter 6 — Points for Potter **

“Enter.”

Harry grimaced at the familiar voice barking the all-too-familiar order. He fidgeted nervously, reminding himself he wasn’t there for detention. He wiped his sweaty palms down his school robe, trying to smooth the wrinkles. As soon as he realized he was tidying his hair he stopped himself and opened the door. This wasn’t detention, but it wasn’t a date either. It was a simple meeting with Snape. He snorted slightly at the thought; nothing between him and Snape was ever _simple_.

The dour man barely glanced up from his desk. Harry wondered how he already had papers to grade as it was only the third day of classes. It wasn’t as if they’d had summer assignments while Hogwarts was closed! His ruminations were disturbed when Snape looked up, dark eyes boring into him.

“Before we discuss our apprenticeship contract, Potter, there is something I fear I must say to you.”

Harry gulped nervously and gave a tentative nod.

“Potter, I — oh for goodness sake! Sit down, Potter. And _stop_ fidgeting.”

Harry hastily took a seat and tried to still his anxious movements.

“Potter,” Snape grimaced, “I fear I owe you an apology.” The words looked like they tasted sour.

“Uh… what?” Harry couldn’t keep the comically shocked look off his face.

“As you know, I was acquainted with Petunia Dursley as a child. I was well aware of her aversion to magic, yet I chose to believe you were raised in the same pampered environment as your father. Because of this belief I… was overly harsh.”

Harry rolled the words over in his mind. Did he want to forgive Snape for treating him so horribly? Could he afford not to? He’d accepted the Malfoys, and they had actively tried to _kill_ him on occasion. Snape hadn’t tried that, but he’d been utterly horrendous to Harry. But, still, didn’t Snape deserve a second chance with him too? It wasn’t as if Harry were _completely_ innocent in his actions towards his professor. He’d misjudged the man till the very end. Some of the ill treatment was very likely deserved. Harry had been a bit of an idiot.

“All right,” he said slowly. “I will accept your apology. If you accept mine as well.”

Snape arched a brow and studied Harry speculatively. “For?”

“For believing you were an evil git bent on killing me despite all evidence to the contrary,” he said automatically, wondering if he were about to be hexed.

Snape also seemed to consider the apology before responding. Harry should have known it would not be easy, and truthfully he wasn’t surprised when his words weren’t immediately accepted. “What about looking in my Pensieve and stealing from my stores?” he asked coldly.

“Given the chance, I would’ve apologized for the Pensieve incident immediately. As soon as I entered I knew it was wrong, but I never learned how to exit a memory on my own. As for the potion ingredients, I’ve never personally stole from you.” He held up a hand, forestalling the angry comment he could see forming. “I cannot apologize _for_ them; however, I will apologize that they stole on my behalf. And no, I won’t tell you who did. I will say I believed it necessary at the time.”

“And was it necessary?”

“The first time… no. I needed the ingredients to brew Polyjuice Potion —“

“Obviously.”

“— in order to try and find out who the heir of Slytherin was. I’m sure you remember the Chamber had just been opened.”

“You should have known your professors were all working on a solution.”

“I’m sure you realize now, sir, why I had very little faith in authority figures.”

“Touche, Mr. Potter.”

“Besides, most the students were convinced I was the Heir of Slytherin.” Harry snorted. “I was half convinced of it myself. I didn’t trust the faculty to be aware of my innocence.”

“And what of the Gillyweed?”

“I guess there’s no reason not to tell you that one. Dobby stole it.”

“Dobby?”

“The house elf I freed from Lucius. I never figured out the entire clue for the second task. Mood— er, I mean, Barty Crouch Jr — he purposefully mentioned it in front of Dobby, so he’d know how to help me. Dobby was scared Ron was going to die, so he stole the Gillyweed.”

“Why did you feel no qualm in telling me?”

“Dobby’s dead,” Harry said, voice flat. “He died saving me,” he added, trying not to let his emotions show too badly.

Snape’s looked at him carefully. His dark eyes seemed to be filled with a quiet sort of understanding. “I accept you apology, Potter,” he said softly.

“Thank you, sir.”

The two sat in silence for a long moment. Snape broke it by clearing his throat. “I have a… personal question I wish to ask you, Potter,” he said uncomfortably.

“Really?” Harry snorted. “I have several I’d like to ask you.” Snape cringed. It was at that moment Harry realized Snape couldn’t take points. There was no way he could stop his grin. “I’m willing to go tit-for-tat, sir.”

“Pardon?”

“I will answer your questions if you answer mine.”

“Very well.”

Snape didn’t say anything immediately. He studied Harry, one long, tapered finger caressing his bottom lip as he was lost in thought. Eventually, he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach. “How is it that Lucius Malfoy became your confidante?” he asked.

“He didn’t,” Harry replied with a grin. “Narcissa did. But anything you tell her—“

“—is known to Lucius and/or Draco. Yes, I’m well versed in Malfoy family logistics.”

“It makes life interesting,” Harry admitted. “I told Narcissa I considered Slytherin the only Quidditch team worth playing against and got to watch Draco strut all day.”

Snape snorted into the tea cup he’d just raised to his lips. Harry found himself rather proud his antics amused the generally stoic man.

“My turn.” Harry hesitated before asking his question. “Um… did you hate me because you were in love with my mum?”

Snape sat his cup down onto its saucer with a loud clatter. He exhaled sharply. “I was not _in love_ with your mother, Potter.”

“But— I saw—“

“I’m well aware of what you saw, and how you might have misconstrued it. However, if I might be permitted a question out of turn, I believe you will understand.” Snape waited for Harry’s nod before asking, “Are you in love with Ms. Granger?”

“What!? No. Hermione’s a friend, and I love her, but not… like that.”

“Exactly.”

“Oh.”

Snape continued to study him like he was ingredient he was about to dissect. Harry watched his professor through lowered lashes, trying to keep his eyes averted. He was already worried about giving the man carte blanche over asking him questions, he didn’t need him to read his mind as well. Especially since he’d upped the stakes with his first question. He had a feeling anything and everything was fair game now.

“Did you believe you were going to die during the final battle?” the man finally asked.

“Did you?” Harry retorted quickly.

Snape smirked. “Point taken. However, I did.”

“So did I,” Harry challenged, though he wasn’t really angry. “Did you see Dumbledore at King’s Cross Station?”

“Pardon?”

“Never mind.”

“That is what you saw?” For some reason, Snape sounded sad. “When you died, Albus met you at King’s Cross?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, unable to look at his professor’s pitying gaze.

“I saw my mother. We were in a park near where I grew up.” Snape offered the information in an oddly gentle voice.

“I’m sorry,” Harry replied automatically.

“For?”

“I didn’t know your mum was dead.”

“She died a long time ago. During my Seventh Year.”

“Still, must be hard. Losing a parent.”

“You should know.”

“Not really. Most my memories of Mum are from after she was dead.” Snape barely even blinked by the bizarre statement, though Harry somehow knew he was curious. He quickly changed the subject before the word ‘ _Necromancer_ ’ could be used. “Actually, sir, I wanted to thank you. For the memories of my mom. Nobody ever really talked to me much about her, so I appreciated them.”

“She was a delightful lady. She… she would have been proud, having you as a son.”

“She told me she was. Was yours? Proud, I mean.”

“She regretted the way I lived my life but was proud of what I did with it.”

Harry thought about Snape’s answer, trying to figure out what it meant. “Oh!” he exclaimed, feeling like an idiot and blushing slightly. “You mean the Death Eater thing? She had a problem with it?”

Snape sneered, giving him a glare that clearly meant he also thought Harry was an idiot. “No, Potter, I do not mean the ‘ _Death Eater thing._ ’ My mother was fully aware of my burning ambition to sell my soul. She didn’t support my decision, but she understood it.”

“Oh.”

Once again, Snape uncharacteristically offered the answer to the unspoken question. “I tend to isolate myself from others. It became worse after I lost your mother’s friendship. She was disappointed I shared my life with so few people.”

“You mean besides all the annoying brats you teach?”

“Of course. The miscreants hardly count as people.” Harry laughed at the expected response. 

“How did your conversation with the Sorting Hat go yesterday?” Snape asked out of the blue.

The smile drained from Harry’s face, quickly turning into a scowl. “I hate that thing. I should’ve let it burn.”

“That well, truly?” Snape’s voice had a mocking quality that caused Harry to scowl harder.

“How much did it tell you?”

“Quite a bit.”

“Dammit.”

“Language, Mr. Potter.”

“Sod my language, Snape!” Harry yelled. “It isn’t everyday a bit of haberdashery admits it tried to set you up as a Dark Lord!”

“Pardon?” Snape actually looked stunned before the blank mask slid back into place.

Harry sighed, his anger leaving him just as quickly as it had sparked. “It didn’t tell you that part, did it?”

“No, it did not.”

“I argued with the Hat, the very first time I talked to it. During my initial sorting,” Harry said, eyes on the ceiling so he didn’t have to look at his professor.

“I remember your sorting took some time.”

“It wanted to put me in Slytherin.”

“Was my house not good enough for you, Potter?”

Harry could literally hear the sneer in Snape’s voice. For some reason it made him grin. His derision was so familiar it was almost comforting. “I had no idea, sir,” he answered happily. “I knew very little about your house. But I did know your godson was a prat and he was sorted first.”

“And you didn’t want to share a dorm with him?”

“Pretty much.”

“Was your Sorting the only justification you have over your earlier comment?”

“My sorting wasn’t the only time I talked to the Hat.” When Snape said nothing, Harry finally looked at him. He was just sitting there, staring at Harry in an oddly patient manner. “I spoke to it again in second year,” he offered. “After the Chamber of Secrets. The Horcrux I destroyed there was a rather talkative fellow. He kept saying how alike Riddle and I were.”

“So you discussed the possibility with the Sorting Hat? That is one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard, Potter.”

“Yeah, well, it was Dumbledore’s idea. He thought it might reassure me.”

“Did it?”

“It stood by its original assessment. Said Slytherin could’ve made me great.”

“Did you tell Albus this?”

“Yeah. He tried to make me feel better; he said only a true Gryffindor would’ve been able to use Godric’s sword.”

Snape gave a small snort. “I hope I’m not destroying your delicate sensibilities when I tell you Albus lied.”

“Sort of figured that one.”

“However, while it is true anybody can use it, regardless of House, it takes an act of bravery to claim it. Only then can you wield it.”

“Is _that_ why you hid it at the bottom of the pond?”

“Why else?”

“Because you are a sadistic bastard who thought it was amusing to make me strip down to my skivvies and dive into frozen water?”

“There is that.”

Harry grinned. When he could get away with snarking back, it was actually _fun_ talking to the man. Snape, though, looked troubled. Harry had no doubt it was something he’d said that was bothering his teacher. “Talk to me, Professor.” The odd words came natural to him. For a second he was transported back to that moment in the Shrieking Shack. ‘ _Look at me, Potter._ ’ He shook his head to get the image of the man dying out of his mind. “What’s bothering you, sir?” he said instead, hoping he wasn’t coming across as a complete idiot.

“Did you truly believe you would become a Dark Lord if placed in Slytherin?”

“No. Not really. Maybe part of me did. But the Hat seems to think so. It told me I would’ve… succeeded Riddle magnificently, I believe were the words it used.”

“The Hat does not know everything. You wouldn’t have.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you most likely would’ve been knifed in your sleep long before you could rise to power.”

Harry burst out laughing. “Thanks, sir. That actually helps.”

“It is the least I could do,” Snape said sarcastically.

“It’s good to know the Hat could make a mistake by not thinking of my imminent demise.”

“Potter, the Sorting Hat exists in a vacuum. It searches your mind and your power core for specific traits. It knows nothing of your heart and it does not take into account how your interactions with others change you.”

“That makes an absurd amount of sense, sir.” Harry’s brows crinkled in thought. “I guess, in those terms, I can see why it might not realize my similarities to Riddle don’t matter.”

“Does it truly see you as the same?”

“Sort of. I thought it might’ve been seeing Slytherin traits in me because of the Horcrux, but it was rather… forthright this time. Before the Hat, Ollivander was the first to raise my concerns. He had quite a bit to say about me and Voldie having brother wands. I started worry about it more after the diary.”

“Out of curiosity, how did the Horcrux learn of you? I was under the impression they required direct contact to affect a person’s mind.”

Harry frowned slightly. He’d never connected the way the Horcruxes twisted people’s emotions with the mental invasion he’d gone through when Voldemort sent him visions. Was it the same thing? It couldn’t be, since the diary and locket seemed to amplify the negative emotions already there, while his scar had allowed Voldemort an amount of control and power over him. He realized Snape was staring at him silently and shook himself from the disturbing reverie. “Most the Horcruxes I found needed contact,” he said slowly, going through the list of artifacts. “The locket definitely did. The cup… it was pretty innocuous, at first. Hermione’s the one who destroyed it, though. She… she refuses to talk about what happened. I think it was pretty rough. I had very little contact with the diadem. It was destroyed within minutes of being found. I think Malfoy might’ve experience something, though. Nagini was… different than the others, so I don’t know if Neville heard anything when he killed her. Voldemort used her as… a conduit, I guess you could say. He possessed her, like he did with me. I guess we were different because we were living Horcruxes.”

“I find it rather disturbing how you so casually refer to yourself as a Dark Artifact.”

“Yeah, well, the truth hurts.”

“You have become cynical.”

“I’ve always been cynical, Professor. You just saw it as arrogance. Or maybe impertinence.”

Harry noticed Snape hiding another smile behind his tea cup. It was even more rewarding than shocking the stern professor. He wondered if dragging emotion from the man was going to become a new game for him. One point for an amused snort, two for a chuckle. Five for a smile, and ten if he ever made Snape laugh like he did during the Welcoming Feast. He realized Snape was again studying him while he was lost in ruminations. He grasped at something to say in order to fill the silence. “Why are you called a Potions Master while Flitwick’s title is Charms Instructor?” he asked for lack of anything better at the moment.

“You are avoiding my earlier question.”

Harry snickered. “If I could remember your earlier question I might agree with that.” Harry grinned at Snape’s chuckle and gave himself two points. “Remind me and I’ll answer it, but I would like to know about your title.”

“Filius does not hold a mastery in Charms. He is, however, a Dueling Master.”

“So… both you and Slughorn have a mastery in Potions?”

“Yes, though I also hold one in Defense.”

“Wicked. I get to apprentice with the only Defense Master we’ve had.”

“Lupin could easily have obtained his mastery if he’d found someone willing to apprentice a werewolf,” Snape said hesitantly. 

“It’s a shame he couldn’t. Remus was brilliant.”

“My own Defense Mentor would’ve taken him, but I apprenticed with a Death Eater.”

“Guess we have that in common, then.”

“You enjoy being a cheeky brat, don’t you, Mr. Potter?”

“Now that I’ve killed ol’ snake face, I do need another goal in life.” 

‘ _Another point to Potter_ ,’ he thought at Snape’s amused snort. Just to keep things fair, he asked, “Wasn’t there a question I was supposed to answer?”

“Yes. How did Tom Riddle’s diary learn of you without direct contact?”

“ _That_ was what you thought I was avoiding?” Harry laughed. “Easy, sir. Ginny wrote in it. She had a bit of a crush on me her first year. She told Riddle my whole life story.”

“I did not know you knew her so well back then.”

Harry scowled and looked away. In truth, it had always bothered Harry that Gin’s crush began before they even met. He resolutely ignored the nagging irritation it stirred up. “At that point, Professor, everyone knew more of my story than I did,” he said. He was unable to keep all of the bitterness from his voice. “I knew nothing of our world before Hogwarts. I had no idea I was a wizard, much less a celebrity.” He gave a rueful grin. “It was so strange to me. Growing up, my cousin Dudley would bully anybody who even tried to talk to me. I went from being completely friendless to learning mine was a common household name. I had no clue how to act.”

“Yet you still made friends,” Snape reminded him softly.

“Yeah, I did.” Some of the sorrow left Harry’s smile. “Ron was nice to me without being obviously influenced by my fame. And Hermione… well, we weren’t friends. Not at first. She was rather convinced I was an idiot.”

“I’m sure she still is.”

“True,” Harry snickered. After all, Snape was completely correct. “Everything changed after the troll,” he continued. “She was my friend because I cared enough to go after her even if I didn’t necessarily _like_ her. Our friendship had nothing to do with me being the Boy-who-Lived or even with me being an idiot. To her, I’m just her friend Harry.”

“And this is important to you? Not to be seen as famous?”

“Of course! _Everybody_ has an opinion on the Boy-who-Lived; they either love him or hate him, but they have an opinion. Very few even know _Harry_.” He let out a small, nervous chuckle. “I think that is part of the reason I’m getting on so well with the Malfoys. They hate the legend but — against their better judgement, I believe — they actually like _me_.”

“You think of yourself as two people, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“The Sorting Hat indicated I needed to teach you to accept yourself. Is that what it was referring to?”

“Was the Sorting Hat the reason behind this impromptu therapy session?”

“No. As loathe as I am to admit it… I’ve merely been enjoying our repartee.”

“Good. Me too. And, no, that isn’t what the Sorting Hat was talking about.” Snape raised a questioning eyebrow and waited. Harry rolled his eyes. “According to the Hat, I will never reach my full potential if I don’t admit I’m a Dark Wizard.”

“Congratulations, Mr. Potter. It only took you… forty-five minutes to do so.”

Harry’s face darkened. “This was a test?”

“Not at all. In fact, I consider this a promising start to our lessons together.” At Harry’s curious stare, Snape continued. “Both the Dark Arts and Defense require a degree of trust. We have made great strides, in a single evening, in achieving such a goal.”

“I’ve always known I could trust you.” Harry grinned at Snape’s disbelieving snort. “All right, maybe not _always_. Though I did know you’d be there to save me. If nothing else, I knew you would personally want the pleasure of killing me. But I’m not _completely_ thick. I did realize I could trust you.”

“Really, Potter? At what point in our intentionally stormy acquaintance did you learn such a valuable lesson?”

When, exactly, had he realized he could trust Severus Snape? Harry thought about the question, wanting to give an honest answer. “The Shrieking Shack,” he finally said.

“After you saw my memories, you mean.”

“No, it was before I watched them. When we were _in_ the Shack.”

“So you began to trust me once I was dead?”

“Sorta,” Harry chuckled. “This is going to sound really corny, but it was when I looked into your eyes. All the misunderstandings, the insults, the anger… it just drained away.”

“Potter, that wasn’t animosity draining away, I’m quite certain it was my life.”

“Glad I could fix that for you, sir.”

“Indeed.”

“Did the Sorting Hat mention I was a Necromancer?”

Shocking Snape really was satisfying. His only reaction was one slow blink, but it spoke volumes. He cleared his throat uncomfortably before asking, “Did it give you any justification for such a statement?”

“A bit. It mentioned how often I’ve seen my parents, the fact that I _resurrected_ you, and that I’m Master of Death.”

“You are — what?”

“Master of Death. As far as titles go, it’s pretty lame, but certainly has a better intimidation factor than Boy-who-Lived.”

“How, exactly, did you achieve a mastery in Death Magic?”

“Huh? Oh. No. Not that type of master. I, er, I have a measure of control over the dead and associated creatures. Ghosts, Inferii, Vampires, Thestrals. I can raise the dead unless they’ve disassociated from their bodies. Then they’ll become Inferii.”

“How did you learn of this?”

“My Mum told me.”

Snape blinked again.

“It was after you died. I talked to Mum and she was the one who told me I could still bring you back.” Harry gave him a small smile. Snape lifted his tea cup and immediately sat it back down, as his hands were obviously shaking. Harry took pity on the man and explained further. “I became Master of Death during the last year of the war. I didn’t know about it until the final battle. Actually, I pretty much figured it out when Voldie killed you for the Elder wand.”

“Yes. I knew he was quite mad when he began ranting over myths.”

“If its any consolation, sir, you didn’t die for a myth. The Deathly Hallows are real,” Harry said with a grim smile.

“Master of Death… you have all of them, don’t you?”

“Not on me.” Harry shrugged. “I keep two of them hidden. I’ve only used them twice. When I learned I was going to die, I used the Resurrection Stone. Dumbledore left it to me for that purpose. After the battle, I used the Elder wand to fix my own; it was destroyed around Christmas. I told Dumbledore I was going to get rid of it, and I intended to. I put on the invisibility cloak and left the castle to hide it, but ended up walking back into the Forbidden Forest where I dropped the stone. I figured I should hide it, too. But I ended up, sitting in the same spot I died in, holding the wand, covered in the cloak, twirling the stone in my hand. I… I just knew I had to use it one last time.”

“To see your parents?”

“No.” Harry mumbled the rest of his comment uncomfortably and rather inaudibly.

“Pardon?” By Snape’s expression, he’d at least gotten the gist of what Harry’d said.

“I wanted to tell you we won,” he repeated clearly. “I was trying to summon you. I wanted you to know I beat him and lived. Mum showed up instead, and told me what I needed to do to save you. I used the Elder wand when I brought you back.”

“Harry…” It was the first time Snape had ever used his name. The rich voice broke slightly on it. “I…”

“You don’t have to say anything, sir. Truthfully, I never intended to tell you.”

“I’m… glad. That you did.”

Harry tore his eyes away from his mentor. Snape’s gaze was too intense, filled with tumultuous emotions Harry could barely recognize. It was almost painful to see. He stared at his feet as he tried to think of something to say to break the crackling tension in the room. “Am I supposed to call you Master?” he asked, peaking up at Snape through his lashes. The sallow man paled drastically. “Sorry,” he said, “I’m an idiot. Didn’t think about the connotations you’d associate with that.”

Snape cleared his throat and looked down into his empty tea cup. Harry had the absurd thought that he was trying to read his tea leaves. Then, he almost laughed as he imagined a young Snape being forced to sit through Divinations. Somehow, he doubted it was one of the man’s chosen electives. 

“Since you tend to call my former Master ‘ _Tom_ ’ or ‘ _Voldie_ ’ I doubt very much I would make such a connection. There are, however, other connotations which might not make it a proper form of address.”

Harry chewed his lip as he tried to figure out what Snape meant. Even his ears blushed when he did. “Oh,” he said, a bit breathlessly.

“Indeed.”

“I, ah, probably shouldn’t call you that, then.”

“Probably not, Potter.”

Harry squirmed in his chair, mildly appalled that he was actually turned on at the moment. He blamed Hermione. Without her lecture on Wizarding sexuality, on same sex couples and threesomes and master/slave relations, he doubted he would _ever_ be thinking of Snape like _that_. He had a little bit more difficulty convincing himself that it was her fault the thought _wasn’t_ completely appalling.

“I apologize,” Snape murmured. “I have made you uncomfortable.”

Harry looked back up, meeting the dark, expressive eyes again. He took a deep breath. Never let it be said Harry Potter didn’t belong in the House of the Brave. “Not in the way you are assuming, sir,” he said, voice soft and husky.

The pleasure he took in startling Snape this time was vastly different. The sound of his sharply inhaled breath hit Harry straight in the groin. Snape’s eyes heated and Harry felt lost in them. The Defense Master shifted in his chair slightly, and Harry nearly groaned, wondering if he was aroused as well.

After a brief incendiary look, Snape tore his eyes away. He cleared his throat again. “Curfew has long since passed,” he said rather awkwardly. “I know Fifth House is not under as strict of conditions, but you should probably return to your dorms.”

“All right,” Harry said, knowing it was best if he left now anyway. “When do you want to meet again?”

“I will write up a contract and message you a time.” Snape tried to sneer but it fell short. “Though I have no doubt of your ability to skulk through the castle, send Filch to me if he causes you any trouble.”

“Not a problem, sir,” Harry said with a slight smile. He pulled the carefully folded cloak from his robe pocket. “I might have stashed the other two,” he said, swirling the fabric around him, “but this one is dead useful.”

“Your cloak is one of the Hallows? You’ve had it all these years?”

“It’s how we figured it out. With all we’ve put it through, my cloak should be torn and worn out. Especially since it was my… I, ah, inherited it,” Harry said, changing his sentence slightly. He didn’t want to say the word ‘father’ as he and Snape were doing a fairly decent job of getting along. Mention of James Potter would end that quicker than the Killing Curse. “I saw a tombstone for Ignotius Peverell at Godric’s Hallow. He was the original owner of the Cloak. Apparently, I’m distantly related or something.”

“Did Albus truly have the Elder Wand?”

“Yeah. He passed it on to me.”

“It was my understanding you stole it from Draco.”

Harry grimaced. “According to Dumbledore’s portrait he suspected three possible scenarios after his death. He thought there was a chance it would go to Draco, but he hoped it would go to you instead. Either way, he thought I would end up, er, getting it from you.” He waited for the derisive comment about how Harry would _never_ beat Snape in a duel. It didn’t come. “In the third scenario, the wand went without owner. He wasn’t entirely certain it would pass to you, since he _asked_ you to kill him.”

“I’m surprised he volunteered so much information.”

“I was upset at the time,” Harry said simply. “I needed to hear it.” He didn’t explain the remorse and anger that overtook him after the war. He’d gone up to the Headmaster’s office, to tell Dumbledore how he’d resurrected Snape, and the Headmaster’s portrait informed him he’d never be free of the mantle of Master of Death since he’d willingly chosen to use the Hallows in such fashion. He’d screamed at Dumbledore, told him it was _his_ fault for not warning Snape of the consequences of killing him. He’d tried to force Dumbledore to admit he’d purposefully sent both of them to their deaths. The Headmaster would not; he kept giving meaningless platitudes about how he’d always had faith in his two favorite boys. Harry’d left angry.

He shifted awkwardly, waiting for Snape to ask him what he was upset about. Luckily, he didn’t. When a jaw-cracking yawn split his mouth, Harry realized he was, indeed, tired. “Sorry,” he apologized. “Didn’t sleep last night. Then today… was weird. Did you know there are portraits of the Founders in the dorms?”

“Yes, though I have never met them. As they are older portraits, they are bound to their frames. Shall I assume they showed themselves today?”

“Yeah, they did. Everyone was really excited to meet them.”

“They, apparently, do not show themselves until after the Sorting is complete. They are, in essence, part of the same magic which animates the Sorting Hat.”

Harry gaped, a blush stealing up his cheeks. “Can they _talk_ to the Sorting Hat?”

Snape gave him a speculative look. “Are you worried they will learn of you? You might consider telling them yourself. They would be an invaluable asset to your studies, I’m sure.”

“I’ll think about it. I was actually worried they would find out I threatened the Sorting Hat.” He gave an unrepentant grin. “Though I already mentioned I hated it to one of them.”

“Dare I ask why only one of them was privy to this information?”

“I said it in Parseltongue.”

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache. “What did Salazar say?”

“He told me I could call him Sal,” Harry said with a wide grin. The smile was distorted as he stifled another yawn. “All right,” he declared, “I’m actually leaving now.” He paused with his hand on the doorknob, though. “Good-night, Professor,” he said quietly before pulling up the hood of his cloak and vanishing. As he let himself out of the office, he heard a softly spoken, “Good-night, Potter.” 

*****************


	7. A Malfoy Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his first meeting with Potter, Snape needs help gaining some insight into the boy he thought he knew

** Chapter 7 — A Malfoy Perspective **

It was doubtful Potter even made it back to his dorms before Severus found himself in front of the portrait guarding Lucius’ quarters. “I need a drink,” he declared as soon as his friend opened the door. He heard Narcissa laughing about something further into the rooms and pushed by Lucius into the parlor of the large family suite. He studied the various bottles of brandy in the sideboard before choosing one and pouring himself a large snifter.

“How was ‘the brat’?” Lucius asked with a smirk.

“Did Draco inform you I was meeting with Potter tonight?”

“He did. He came by for a visit.”

“I know. He walked to the dungeons with me after dinner.” Snape made a face of disgust. It wasn’t in regards to the brandy. “He _warned_ me he would be most displeased if I didn’t give Potter a fair chance.”

“Did you?”

“I did not feel like being subjected to one of you son’s tantrums.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a solution to those,” Narcissa commented, walking into the room for the end of the conversation. She kissed Lucius’ cheek lightly and smiled warmly at Severus.

Lucius gazed lovingly at his wife. “I believe our Severus here learned a valuable lesson tonight. In regards to Harry.”

“Oh dear,” Narcissa laughed lightly. She left Lucius’ side and gently took Severus’ arm to led him toward a chair. “Perhaps you should sit. I’m sure the shock is quite terrible,” she said in a mockingly soothing tone. Severus jerked his arm from her grasp but gladly sank down into the seat.

“How was your first meeting?” Lucius asked, taking his own chair. The aristocrat wore an expression of barely suppressed amusement. 

_’Smug, smarmy bastard_ ’, Severus thought, glaring at his oldest friend. Perhaps, he decided, it was a mistake to only befriend Slytherins. “You are going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

“Of course.” Severus could hear the malicious delight in Lucius’ smooth drawl. “You may as well get it over with, Severus. The wait does you no good.”

“I was wrong,” Severus said in a slow drawl, annunciating each word individually so Lucius wouldn’t make him repeat it. He added a glare at the indignity of it all. “Potter is not a brat,” he finished.

Lucius’ resulting smile was not at all kind. Narcissa clapped her hands in delight. “Now, then, that wasn’t too hard, was it?” she mocked happily.

Lucius sobered slightly. “In all seriousness, old friend, how did your meeting fair?”

“It was… intense.”

“And what did you think of our dear Harry?”

“I am appalled to realize I watched the boy for so many years and yet had no clue of who he truly was.”

Narcissa gracefully perched on the lounge next to her husband and leveled Severus with a sympathetic look. “Do not blame yourself overly much, Severus. The end of the war was hard on Harry. He suffered a great deal. It changed him.”

“As was readily apparent.”

“You noticed, didn’t you?” Lucius asked suddenly. 

Severus didn’t harbor any delusions that Lucius was referring to Harry’s changed temperament. As a fellow Slytherin, it was obvious to him what Malfoy was commenting on. “It was difficult not do,” he admitted evenly. “Does he do it on purpose?”

“No. I believe he is quite oblivious to it.”

Snape nodded; it was as he suspected. “He exudes power yet still seems completely guileless. How _anyone_ could bleed so much magical energy without being aware of it is beyond me. Are you certain it is not an act?”

“It isn’t.” Narcissa sounded adamant.

“Narcissa has several theories on why his power remained dormant until now. Most revolve around the Horcrux he contained.”

“I have my own hypothesis as well.” Severus didn’t want to mention the Hallows. It seemed Potter trusted the Malfoys in more than Severus would have suspected, but he feared accidentally betraying a confidence. Especially one of such magnitude. “I am surprised,” he said slowly, “that you know of the last Horcrux. I was under the impression Potter kept the information largely secret.”

“He does,” Lucius scowled. “He didn’t even tell those friends of his. However, I believe he held his silence more to protect the old fool than himself.”

Severus nodded. He remember the burning rage he’d felt when he learned Albus had groomed Potter into little more than a sacrificial weapon. Now, though, he suspected Dumbledore’s machinations went far deeper. He would learn, in time, though it was doubtful he’d know before Albus wished him to. Even dead the wizard was a master of manipulation. Speaking of manipulation —

“How did Potter keep the information about the Horcruxes from leaking to the press? Or the Ministry, for that matter?”

“He obviously had some coaching. Kingsley Shacklebolt spent quite a bit of time with Potter before the trials began, but Draco thinks it was the Mudblood’s doing. Harry used a rather ingenious manipulation of the truth.”

Severus sighed. There was far too much time he was simply missing. Potter had done a rudimentary healing when he resurrected him, but he’d still been grievously injured. He’d been bitten by a Horcrux, for Merlin’s sake. Even once he’d gained consciousness, Minerva and Poppy kept him isolated. They had insisted stress was detrimental to his recovery. “Just tell me,” he ordered curtly.

“As I’m sure you know, it was obvious during the last year of the war that Harry was searching for something. The Gringott’s robbery, if nothing else, proved as much. He couldn’t hide that he’d been gathering artifacts.”

“ _Artifacts_?” Severus sneered the word. It was far too mundane a way to describe pieces of the Dark Lord’s soul.

“Harry’s word, not mine. He claimed he was gathering artifacts which enhanced the Dark Lord’s power and destroying them so he had a better chance of being victorious in their final confrontation.”

Severus digested the information. It _was_ brilliant. It was accurate enough to hold up even under _Veritaserum_ without revealing the full magnitude of what the boy had done. He doubted it was coincidental that it suggested Potter had weakened the Dark Lord before dueling him. The masses would have turned on their Savior in a heartbeat if they’d known Potter was simply more powerful than Tom Riddle.

“Were the Horcruxes the only ‘artifacts’ he mentioned to the press? As I recall, the Dark Lord was rather obsessed with chasing myths before his defeat. I believe that is why I was… attacked.”

Lucius gave him a speculative look. Severus tried to fathom the reasons behind it. Did Lucius know Snape had been dead? Did he know of the Hallows? Unfortunately, Severus knew he could speculate all night without ever truly learning what Malfoy was thinking. Unless the man wanted him to, of course.

“There is something I believe you should see,” Lucius said suddenly, rising from his chair. Severus made to follow him, but Lucius gestured for him to remain seated. He returned a few minutes later carrying a small Pensieve. Severus arched a brow. “It’s Harry’s,” Lucius explained. “Narcissa acquired it for him due to his nightmares.”

“He left it with us,” Narcissa explained further with a fond smile. “He said it would be easier to share confidences if we didn’t actually need to remember conversations. I believe our gossip amuses him.”

Lucius cleared a silvery memory from the basin. Narcissa must have known what Lucius wanted to show him, because she immediately began to extract her own memories. “We need to use my memories since Lucius was… absent from the final battle,” she commented lightly.

“I can tell you are curious, Severus,” Lucius drawled, “about how we came to know Harry’s secrets. I believe, in your own way, you are still trying to protect the boy.”

“Old habits die hard,” Severus sneered.

“Indeed.” Lucius gave a cold smile. “I would try to assure you we mean him no ill will, but you have every reason to doubt my word. However, you might wish to know Harry’s trust did not come easy. He said nothing of the Horcruxes until I mentioned them.”

“How did you become aware of them at all?”

“I suspected, after I learned the results of the diary I slipped the youngest Weasley. However, when Harry and his friends were held at the Manor, Bella was led to believe someone had robbed her vault. She was frantic… and terrified. She confided in us — quite by accident while in a maddened rage — about the item she was protecting.”

Lucius gestured toward the Pensieve. Without any further prompting, Severus dipped into the fluid and the world swirled away around him. He landed in the Forbidden Forest, in a clearing filled with Death Eaters. The Dark Lord stood confidently in the center of the group. Severus stared at his former Master, at his killer, and was swamped by a myriad of emotions. He startled when a hand landed on his shoulder. The look Lucius gave him was genuinely affectionate.

“Harry has his own reasons for offering us sanctuary,” Lucius explained softly. “I’m sure you consider it the actions of a rash Gryffindor, and perhaps you are correct.”

In the memory, Voldemort was speaking. His magically amplified voice filled the woods and carried out over Hogwarts’ grounds. ‘ _I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you_ ,’ the voice began. Snape realized he’d heard the words while he lay in the Shrieking Shack, already dead for all intents and purposes.

Lucius spoke over Voldemort’s taunts. “I had lost all faith in our Lord, as you know. I chose not to participate in the final battle because it gave me plausibility in case of either side being victorious. I truly doubted Harry would win and was quite shocked at the turn of events. Then, Narcissa showed me these memories. I was stunned by their revelations. I decided, if given the opportunity, to try to redeem myself so I could live in the world Potter would shape. When he came to me in Azkaban it was an easy decision to accept his help on behalf of my family. It was a pleasant surprise to learn the boy is rather intriguing.”

Curiosity ate at Severus. Whatever he was about to see was instrumental in setting his old friend on a completely new path. One that led to the Malfoy family being champions of Harry bloody Potter.

“Watch those trees over there,” Lucius suggested, with a gentle push to Severus’ shoulder. They moved deeper into the memory and waited. His breath caught when Potter emerged from the trees. There were no tears; Potter’s face was almost serene. Only his clenched jaw and tightly folded fists showed his determination. His green eyes conveyed nothing but acceptance. This was a seventeen year-old boy, stepping to his death, and he showed complete certainty of his destiny. He knew he was going to die and greeted it calmly. It was disgusting and wrong and completely—

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Lucius whispered from behind him. “I have seen people tortured for days without ever reaching such acceptance of their fate. At this point, I believe Harry already considered himself dead.”

As if to emphasize the words, Harry stared mutely at the green spell light racing toward him and stepped forward to meet it.

The clearing erupted in cheers. The Dark Lord fairly preened over the victory, while Bella hung on his arm like a limpet. Narcissa flung herself down next to the small, crumpled body. Her carefully crafted mask of boredom crumbled and showed her heartbreak at seeing the death of someone so young.

“As you know, Narcissa has a natural gift toward Healing. According to her, she sensed nothing from Harry one moment and then he was alive the very next, completely unharmed.”

“What is he saying to her?”

“He told her Draco was alive.”

Severus nodded and watched as Narcissa lied to their Lord and confirmed Harry’s death. He gaped, just slightly, when Potter twitched and flopped up under _Cruciatus_ without flinching or screaming.

“How —“

“I did not understand either, at first. Until I saw their final confrontation.”

“Just tell me,” Snape all-but-pleaded. Lucius gave him a cold smile and a shake of his head. Before he could ask anything more, the world melted in a nauseating swirl of color and reformed into the Great Hall. 

“I’m uncertain where Harry is at this point. He disappeared under an Invisibility Cloak,” Lucius informed him. Severus smirked slightly. Potter escaped death under a Hallow. He found it rather fitting. 

Severus earned himself an odd glance from Lucius when he laughed at the Dark Lord’s attempts to set Neville Longbottom on fire. He didn’t explain he was hearing Potter’s annoyed comment from earlier. ‘ _I hate that thing. I should’ve let it burn._ ’ Then, the implication of what he was seeing sunk in. He sucked in a harsh breath. “He extended Lily’s protection spell. That’s why he let himself die.”

“Yes,” Lucius said with a soft sigh. “He alluded to others that he was casting from under his Cloak, but he wasn’t. He’d already cast the only spell he needed; an instinctive casting of a Dark Protection spell, and one of _such power_ ,” Lucius said, more than a hint of awe and adoration in his voice.

“How far did he extend it?”

“Severus,” Lucius said with a small smile flirting at the corner of his stern lips, “he extended it to _everyone_. The Dark Lord’s ability to cause harm was completely nullified.”

Severus reeled backwards at the information. The purity of determination… the strength of the desire to save others… it was staggering. All of it created using Ancient Dark Arts. Like Lucius, he found the idea more than a bit intoxicating.

“Harry didn’t know, at first, about the protection spell being Dark Arts. We hadn’t been living at Grimmauld Place for long when he discovered a text in the Black Family Library. He did not handle the news well.”

“I’m sure he didn’t,” Severus said quietly. He was still stunned from what he’d seen.

Lucius grew silent again as Potter began _taunting_ the Dark Lord. Severus was flabbergasted. Potter created such blind rage with his words. His words about Snape. Never before had he heard such an impassioned defense of himself. Not even when Albus argued for his release before the Wizengamot. If Severus had any doubts at all of who was responsible for his current freedom, they’d just been laid to rest.

After everything, Harry still offered Tom Riddle salvation. The words ‘ _Try for some remorse, Tom_ ’ rang loudly. It was a breathtaking tribute to Albus. As Voldemort collapsed, truly dead at last, the memory spat Severus out of the Pensieve.

Nobody spoke at first. Severus chewed the edge of his thumbnail, a nervous habit he’d broken himself of when he was working on Potions constantly. He barely looked up when Narcissa shoved a tumbler of scotch into his hand. She gave him an understanding look. “I assumed you could use something stronger,” she explained.

Severus sat the glass aside. “I thank you, but I intend to take a draft of Dreamless Sleep in a very short while.”

They said brief farewells and goodnights. Severus paused in the act of leaving and turned back. There was one more bit of information he wanted before he left. “Lucius,” he asked, leaning against the unopened door frame, “What did Potter say, afterward, about the Wand of Destiny? His conversation with the Dark Lord must have generated a fair amount of speculation.”

Lucius smirked. “Harry admitted he had visions involving the Dark Lord searching for the Elder Wand and used the obsession to taunt him. A feint, he said, since it was _his_ wand that was needed to defeat the Dark Lord because of the twin cores.”

“I see,” Severus said simply. He started to open the door when Lucius’ clipped tones stopped him again. “I trust you noticed our Lord was not using his normal wand, Severus.” The aristocrat sounded bored, but his eyes were flashing with excitement.

Severus gave only a curt nod in reply and let himself out. He returned to his own quarters and readied for bed before downing a bottle of Dreamless Sleep. He wondered, if he’d allowed himself to dream, would the green eyes still be accusatory? Somehow, he thought not.

*****************


	8. Contract Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry learns a little more of what his apprenticeship is all going to entail, and the Founders learn just a bit more about the Boy-who-Lived.

**Chapter 8 - Contract Negotiations**  
Friday morning, at breakfast, Harry received a note from Snape. It informed him of the man’s office hours (last block of the day) and asked him (ordered him) to report in. His classmates seemed torn between sympathy and envy. Official apprenticeship classes didn’t begin until Monday and most had yet to even meet with their mentors while Harry had an appointment to discuss his contract already. 

It was enjoyable to simply waste time until last block. After breakfast, he curled up in his usual spot on the couch and listened to the conversations around him. Terry and Padma were playing chess at one of the tables. Ron sat near them, his attention divided between the game (he was playing winner) and his conversation with Hannah. Wayne and Justin were at another table playing a rambunctious game of Exploding Snap. The two corners of the rooms were like polar opposites, one tense and silent as they concentrated on the game, the other filled with noisy jibes and cheers.

Lisa and Mandy were sitting on the couch opposite Harry, snuggled up and talking quietly. He hadn’t even known they were a couple. It was laughingly explained by Draco that they’d also gotten together during Sixth Year when Harry was busy being obsessed with Slytherins. Harry’d tuned his teasing out until Draco got bored and joined Salazar, Neville and Blaise’s discussion about the impact of magical sage versus the nonmagical variety (Nev giving merely a Herbologist’s perspective, of course.)

The three Gryffindors girls had all disappeared into their dorms when Lavender and Pavarti somehow convinced Hermione to let them give her a make-over. Helga and Rowena were having a rather loud and animated discussion about potatoes, of all things. Harry, Daphne, and Godric were the only ones not taking part in the group atmosphere. Daphne was curled up reading a book, Harry was busy watching everyone else, and Godric simply looked bored.

“Sir,” Harry said politely to the Founder of his House, “I owe you an apology.” 

“Whatever for, young Harry?”

“I lost your sword.”

“You did what!?”

Most the conversations ceased suddenly, reminding Harry why he preferred talking to the Founders in private. “I, er, lost the Sword of Gryffindor,” he said, face heating in embarrassment. Godric spluttered. Harry quickly revised his statement before the painting could start screaming or faint or something. “I mean, I know where it is. I didn’t _lose_ it, but its just, ah, not at Hogwarts anymore. The Sorting Hat can still summon it,” he assured quickly, “It’s not _completely_ lost.”

“And where, pray tell, is my sword currently?”

“I gave it back to the goblins.”

“You did what!?”

“I had to,” Harry whined.

“Why?” Godric asked with an incredulous glare.

“ _IsortaneededhelprobbingGringott’s_ ,” Harry said quickly and quietly.

“Say again?”

“He needed help breaking into Gringott’s so he could rob one of the vaults,” Ron said, loudly and clearly.

“You helped me!” Harry exclaimed.

“There’s a plus side to being a sidekick, Har’. Hermione and I weren’t held responsible.”

“Damn lucky you weren’t,” Harry muttered irritably. “They made me reimburse the vault.”

“Ironic, really,” Draco drawled, “seeing as how Aunt Bella’s vault was seized by the bank after her death.”

“Do you have any idea how many galleons I had to put in there first?” Harry complained. “I doubt even Helga thought her cup was worth so much. And that’s on top of how much I needed to pay the bank for restitution.” 

The Hufflepuff Founder gave a scandalized laugh. “You robbed _Gringott’s_ for one of my _cups_? Whatever for?” 

Harry flushed even brighter. “Um… Tom Riddle was obsessed with Hogwarts. He collected items you all owned and cast some pretty nasty spells on them. I had to destroy them.”

“Dare I even ask how many historical artifacts you lost?” Godric asked with a hint of a scowl.

“Ah… Rowena’s diadem, Helga’s cup, and Sal’s locket.” He pointed at the Slytherin portrait where the locket could clearly be seen resting on Salazar’s chest.

“And you gave my sword away?”

“Yeah.”

Godric started grumbling slightly, but Rowena shushed him with a glare. “Why did you have to pay restitution if you’d already reimbursed the vault?” she asked curiously.

“Damages.”

“From the dragon we stole to fly out of there,” Ron helpfully added.

Godric’s grumbling ceased as he let loose a deep belly laugh. “You really don’t know the meaning of a dull life, do you, young Potter?” he said in between guffaws.

Knowing his Founder wasn’t actually mad, Harry relaxed slightly. “I’m hoping to learn,” he said with a lazy smile.

Draco snorted. “Potter, your life will _never_ be _dull_.”

“Don’t dash all my hopes and dreams, Malfoy!” Harry laughed. “Voldie’s dead, the Death Eater trials are over, and today someone _else_ made the front page of the  Prophet! I have high expectations for this year. There are no teachers trying to kill me. Not even a hint of death threats in a couple of months. I have _nothing_ pressing to worry about.”

“In that case, you want to go flying after lunch?” Ron piped up cheerfully.

“Sure!” Harry agreed, tossing his best friend a grin. “As long as I’m not late meeting Snape.”

“Thus putting death threats back on your list of worries,” Draco sneered. Harry chuckled, sank back into the plush cushions, and resumed watching his classmates. It was nice being free of all his previous fears. This, he decided, was what it must feel like being a normal student.

****

*************

The afternoon flew by too quickly, Harry decided, laughing at the pun. Several Fifth House students joined them on the pitch for a quick pick-up game. Ron, Draco, and Harry were the only experienced players, making the game rather one-sided, but everyone had a blast laughing at the group antics. All too soon, he was racing down to the dungeons for his meeting. He was sweaty, hair sticking up everywhere, and still dressed in the solid black Quidditch robes he’d bought himself for Christmas. However, he was on time.

Snape’s door stood open as it usually did during the professor’s office hours. Harry stood in the doorway, catching his breath, and waited for Snape to acknowledge him. The Defense Master _appeared_ to be oblivious to his presence. He was hunched over his desk in the disgustingly decorated office, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment. Harry studied the man for moment. It had been a long time since Harry’d really _looked_ at Snape and he was surprised how much his mental image was just gross caricature. His nose was still overly large; it was slightly crooked, but not nearly as hooked as Harry always thought it to be. His hair was a bit longer and it fell in a thick black curtain around his face. It still appeared rather lank, but it lacked the oily sheen Harry was used to. He suspected the lack of potion fumes had something to do with it. Most the odd colored stains on his pale hands were gone as well, leaving only one dark ink stain that suggested Snape held his quill too close to the nib. However, he couldn’t help but notice they were elegant hands. His fingers long and slender. Snape gently cradled his ink well in one palm so he could swiftly dip his quill every few words. Snape should play piano, Harry decided as he watched him. He imagined Severus Snape would look just as natural hunched over the ivory keys as he did curled over his desk or cauldron. Harry pulled out of the odd daydream to see pitch black eyes watching him.

“Are you planning on standing there all day, Potter?” the man asked, thin lips twisting into a sneer. Harry returned the expression with a small smile and stepped into the familiar office.

“Close the door behind you,” Snape ordered. Harry did so and was surprised when Snape cast several privacy spells. Harry arched an inquisitive eyebrow which caused the Defense Master to give an amused snort. “You look utterly foolish doing that,” he commented as he leaned back in his chair. Harry laughed and took the seat across from his desk.

“I asked Sal if the one eyebrow trick was a Slytherin trait,” Harry said. “He called me an idiot.”

“Did you then ask if insulting you was a Slytherin trait?”

Harry snickered. “No, but I should have. He knows I’m mentoring with his Head of House. I’m beginning to think Sal is a sadist; he is rather gleefully waiting to see what our contract all entails.”

“Which is the very subject I wish to discuss with you today.”

“I’m glad. Most of us are rather anxious for our lessons on Monday. So far, I’m the only one whose been told anything. It’s making everyone a bit nervous.”

“All of us are being… cautious about the formal contract. In fact, I’ve yet to even begin yours. I’ve merely compiled some notes. I assumed you would want to give your opinion on them first.”

Harry was shocked. He’d gotten on remarkably well with Snape during their first meeting, sure, but he didn’t think Snape would be asking _his_ opinion. On anything! “I’d like that,” he said sincerely.

“Before we start, Potter, do you know _why_ the mentors are so worried about the contracts?”

Harry shrugged. “I figured it’s a lot of work, scheduling the apprenticeship studies along with regular classes.”

“It is. However, that is not the reason we are concerned.” Snape was studying him as if he were looking for something important in Harry’s reactions. “Fifth house is considered a formal apprenticeship program. As such, the contracts are automatically placed in record at the Ministry.”

“Oh.” Harry blinked. “Guess mine’s going to be missing some of the fine print.”

“Indeed.”

“How long is the contract for?”

“It will be a standard one year contract. Very few institutions require more.”

“Is there more?”

“You are considered a full-fledged Apprentice after your first year. After your second, you become an Adept. Completion of your third year earns you a Mastery.”

“And you did two Masteries? And _still_ became the youngest Professor in the history of Hogwarts?”

“How did—“ Snape flushed slightly. He ducked his head, effectively hiding behind his hair. “My mentor held a dual mastery as well. I did my apprenticeships simultaneously.”

Harry’s brow rose. “Did you ever sleep?”

“Of course. Once I’d completed my studies. _All three years worth_ ,” he said drolly.

Harry snorted. “All right. Let’s see what you have planned for me… so I can schedule when to sleep.”

Snape pulled a piece of parchment out of the stack in front of him and slid it across his desk. “This is a copy of my class schedule.” He frowned when Harry set it aside without even looking at it.

“I learned during my first year, sir, that it was prudent for me to memorize your whole schedule,” Harry explained when he saw the disappointed frown.

“It changes every year, Potter.”

“Yeah. I always have it memorized by the end of the first week.” Harry smirked. “I considered it a survival skill.”

“A skill you might not have needed if you’d put such effort into your course work.”

“A logical assumption which, sadly, had no basis in reality.” Something akin to regret flashed across Snape’s face. “Should I sit in on all your classes, sir?” Harry asked quickly. It bothered him, for some reason, to see Snape condemning himself for their past.

“No,” Snape said, blanking his expression expertly. “You may miss three classes a week. However, I will need to approve your absence and you cannot miss two classes from the same year group in any given week.”

“All right. What will I do during class?”

“It will vary from day to day.” Snape retrieved several more lists. “This is a copy of all the syllabi.” Harry skimmed them while he listened to his professor. There were similarities to his own lessons — Third Year focused on Dark Creatures, Fourth Year on curses, Sixth on nonverbal spells. Yet it seemed so much more concise and organized. He wondered what DADA would’ve been like if he’d had a professor for longer than a single year.

“On days when we do demonstrations, you will assist me,” Snape was saying. “You will also make yourself available to help the students with their essays.”

“That sounds pretty straight forward.”

“It would be if it were anybody but _you_ , Potter.”

Harry was taken aback by the sarcastic comment. “Sir?” he questioned softly. He would have preferred not sounding so bloody hurt.

Snape sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What is going to happen when we duel, Potter?”

“Most likely you will kick my arse.”

“Indeed.” A smirk flirted around the corners of Snape’s mouth. “I assumed the same until I learned of your wand.”

“Oh. But I don’t use it.”

“I am uncertain how that changes anything.”

“The Elder Wand is strong, almost ridiculously so. That’s part of the reason I don’t use it. I don’t have enough control of my magic to compensate for such a large boost.”

“You will. Someday.”

“I know, but I’m more comfortable with my normal one for now.” Harry ducked his head almost shyly. “I do get a bit of an increase in power just by owning the wand,” he admitted.

“Will you retain ownership if I defeat you in class?”

“I believe so. It will only be a mock duel, so I don’t think the wand would consider itself lost in battle. Plus, to quote Ollivander, the wand chooses the wizard. Dumbledore thinks it _chose_ me as its master, so I won’t lose control of it easily.”

“Such as Draco did when you disarmed him.”

“Exactly. It… _wants_ to stay with me or something.”

“Would you be willing to retrieve the Hallows for the duration of you studies? I believe it might be prudent for you to learn more about them.”

“All right.”

“I have one more question about them before we move on.” Harry nodded to indicate he was listening. “Do the Malfoys know you control the Deathly Hallows?”

Harry snickered. “Um, no.”

“Why not? You seem to have confided in them a great deal; far more than I would’ve thought prudent, in fact.”

“Ah… remember your statement about being knifed in my sleep?” Harry shared a smirk with his mentor. “They know some of my secrets, but I didn’t trust them enough for this one. I’ve only told people I _really_ trust anything about the Hallows.” The off-hand comment seemed to startle his professor. Harry wondered if _anybody_ had ever shown Snape they had faith in him. He would have assumed Dumbledore did, but he’d been bothered by the Headmaster’s cool treatment of his spy in Snape’s memories.

“I take your comment to mean Granger and the Weasleys know.”

“They only know about the Wand and the Cloak. And Ron’s the only Weasley who even knows that much. I never told the rest of them.”

“Not even your little girlfriend?” Snape asked rather snidely.

“I, ah, guess I saw no reason to tell her.”

“What about your Necromantic gift?”

“So far… only you. Well, and the Sorting Hat.”

“You might consider telling the Malfoys.”

Harry frowned. He couldn’t figure out if Snape was cautioning him _not_ to trust the Malfoys or suggesting he _should_ trust them. “Why?” he questioned.

“My library is sadly lacking on the subject. Lucius owns an extensive collection of Dark Arts tomes which, I believe, were successfully hidden during the Ministry’s seizure of his assets.”

“Good to know. I already searched the Black Family Library.”

“So I heard.”

“Lucius told you?” Harry cringed. “I didn’t take the discovery too well.”

“Why did it bother you so much? If I’m not mistaken, it was not the first time you’d used Dark Arts.”

“That wasn’t what bothered me. I… was mad. At Dumbledore. For years he lectured me on the power of love; how that was what saved me and how it was my greatest strength. I was just so sick of learning about all his lies.”

“Albus may have manipulated you a great deal, but he did not _lie_ to you, Potter,” Snape said, almost gently. “The power of sacrifice is partially set by how important the offering is. The more precious the sacrifice— your own life, for example — the more power given to the protection. The spell is further augmented by the caster’s intent — such as your determination to save _everyone_ from the Dark Lord. With that combination, you managed to cast a protective field that was far more encompassing than any I’ve ever seen. Albus was being honest when he said your capacity for love was your greatest strength. He just… omitted some rather crucial details.”

“Such as the fact that I cast Dark Arts on a large portion of the Wizarding World without consent?”

“Precisely.”

“Why is that spell considered Dark Arts?”

“You will learn that soon enough, once we begin your lessons.”

“I hate waiting.”

“Patience is a virtue, Mr. Potter.”

“I was sure you didn’t think I had any of those, Professor.”

“Touche.”

“Am I only expected to sit in on your classes or will I have other responsibilities?”

Snape didn’t seem at all fazed by the rapid subject change. “According to the contract I’m working on, you will spend three evenings a week grading papers for me.”

“You’ll let me grade papers?”

“Not on your life, Potter,” Snape sneered. “Not during your first year, at least.”

The fact that Snape expected him to continue beyond basic Apprenticeship pleased him. He hid the resulting grin with effort. “So… what _will_ I be doing those nights?” he inquired.

“Studying the theory of Dark Arts and Necromancy, assuming we can discreetly find some adequate references.”

“Oh!” Harry almost leapt from his chair in excitement. “I just thought of something!”

“An impressive accomplishment for you, no doubt.”

Harry glared, but it lacked any true anger. “Hermione talked to Sal about the Chamber of Secrets. _Apparently_ ,” he rolled his eyes, “it wasn’t _just_ intended to trap a basilisk for a thousand years. It was _his_ area of the castle.”

“As anybody with an ounce of common sense would realize.”

“It was his private work area, Snape. Where his _Library_ was.”

“Oh.” 

Harry wondered how many points he earned in his game for making the verbose man speechless. Unfortunately, it lasted merely seconds. “Would you be comfortable discussing your studies with the Founders?” he asked Harry. “Salazar, especially, might be able to help you.”

“Sure. I’ll skip dinner to talk to them so nobody else will be in the Common Room. I’ll set up some privacy spells, too, just in case. It’s not uncommon for us to use them so it won’t look suspicious.”

“Potter, you could talk to Salazar about it while the Minister himself stood in the room and he’d never know what you were discussing.”

Harry grimaced. “I don’t speak Parseltongue in front of other people. Last time I did half the school decided I was evil.”

“It is a gift. No different than Longbottom being a Green Man or Draco’s healing ability.”

“No offense, sir, but there is a bit of a difference. My gifts cause people to back away in fear.”

Snape gave him a mildly disgusted look. “I can see you still have a ways to go in acceptance.” He waved an elegant hand as if to physically push the subject aside. “No matter. It will come with time.”

“Is, ah, there any more parts to the contract we need to talk about?”

“Yes, but I will be brief.” Snape handed him _another_ list, this one of book titles. “Those are the texts I use in my classes. Normally, you would have most of them yourself, having used them in your own studies. However, due to the varied nature of your tutelage, you may need to purchase several of them.”

Harry read the list again. “I only used two of these,” he said, pointing out the Third and Sixth Year texts. “Hermione bought me a few of these for when I was teaching the DA. I’ll owl Flourish and Blott’s for the rest.”

“Very well.” Snape caressed his bottom lip with a long finger before adding, “You will have another set of texts, of course. I will discreetly purchase them for you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I hope you realize the contract voids itself if you do not get the necessary NEWT scores at the end of the year.”

Harry nodded, he’d been expecting as much. “What _are_ the necessary scores?”

“I will require you to get at least five NEWTs above an A level and an O in Defense. I do not believe these requirements are greater than your abilities.”

Harry blinked. That was… almost a compliment. _Definitely_ worth points. “Thank you, sir. Um, how are the NEWT classes going to work?”

“They will begin a week from tomorrow. You will study one subject per week.” Snape leveled him with a glare. “I insist you revise _all_ the subjects. You would be well-served to have at least a basic understanding of Arithmancy and Runes.”

“All right.”

“I’m sure Ms. Granger will be thrilled to help you. However, Fifth House will be assigned study partners. I am going to suggest you are partnered with Draco. Even if you are not, you should discuss some of your secondary studies with him. He may be able to help you grasp some of the more complex theories.”

“That makes sense. Thank you, sir,” Harry said again, wondering if Snape actually believed he was grateful or if he just thought Harry effusive. 

Snape pulled his wand and collapsed the spells on the room. “You are dismissed, Mr. Potter.”

For the first time ever, Harry didn’t run from the room at those words. He gathered his stack of papers and gave Snape a hesitant smile before leaving.

*****************


	9. Parental Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry seeks advice when the stress from Fifth House and his personal life become too much.

**Chapter 9 — Parental Expectations**  
Luckily, Hermione had several of the Owl Order forms from Flourish and Blotts. Harry meticulously copied the book list onto the forms and checked the catalogue for prices. Hermione softly asked if he wanted her to go with him to the Owlery. He gave a grateful smile, glad to have her quiet support. He still missed Hedwig and had been unable to buy a new owl the one time he’d gone into Eeylop’s Emporium. 

During the trek up to the Owlery Harry told her what Snape was expecting. Well… he told her part of it, at least. Hermione was both excited and nervous about her own meeting with her mentor. She’d received a formal invitation to tea on Sunday. She’d spent an hour scanning a book called Epistolary Etiquette before sending off her acceptance. Draco had laughed at the witch, saying any of the Slytherins could have proof read it for her. Hermione had primly pointed out that then she would never learn to do it herself.

Harry tried to reassure her about the meeting, but wasn’t very successful. Unfortunately, Lucius still held many of his prejudices. Harry got on well enough with the elder Malfoy, but he knew it was largely because Lucius respected his power. There was no doubt the Pureblood would be impressed by Hermione’s intelligence if he gave her a fair chance. But Harry couldn’t be certain Lucius could put aside his beliefs long enough to do so. He decided to stop by the dungeons and have a chat with the History Professor some time before Sunday.

One of the owls greeted Harry with a hoot of hello. He was both pleased and saddened to see Isis, Draco’s eagle owl, fly toward him. “Hey girl,” he said softly as he stroked a finger down her beak. She gave the appendage a playful nip before sticking out her leg with a hopeful hoot. Harry grinned at the expectant creature. “I guess you’re a bit bored, what with all of them living in the castle.” He tied the letter and a bag of galleons to her leg and watched as she flew gracefully from the tower. Tears gathered in his eyes as he was swamped by memories — watching Hedwig fly off with his first letter to Sirius, her disdain upon meeting Pig, and always her silent understanding of his troubles.

Hermione gently rubbed his back as he let the emotions wash over him. Eventually, he turned and buried his face in her shoulder. She held him, rocking slightly, and murmured soothing words he didn’t even hear. “Thanks, Mione,” he whispered as he composed himself.

“Of course, Harry. You aren’t alone in all this, you know.”

He pulled her into another hug. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the clean, comforting scent of her hair and felt himself start to relax.

“ _Harry_!?”

They pulled apart at the shout and Hermione turned. Ginny was standing on the Owlery stairs, red-faced and spluttering. “Ah, hey Gin,” Harry greeted her with more than a bit of confusion. She wasn’t even looking at him because she was too busy glaring at Hermione. “Um… what are you doing here, Ginny?”

Finally, she turned to him. Her normally warm brown eyes were shooting daggers. “Maybe I should be asking what _you_ are doing up here,” she snapped.

“Sending a letter,” he said slowly.

A screech of disbelief caught in Ginny’s throat. It sounded a bit like a cat who’d been doused with a bucket of water. “That’s not what it looked like to me!” Ginny said, voice rising in anger.

Hermione gaped at her friend. “Ginny,” she explained patiently, “Harry was upset about Hedwig. I was just giving him a hug.”

“Are you sure, Hermione? It looked a bit over the top for nothing more than a dead owl.”

“Hermione… I’ll meet you at dinner,” Harry said. His voice was cold and his fists were clenched and shaking. “I need to talk to Ginny alone.”

“Harry, you’re upset. Don’t do this now. Calm down and talk to Ginny later.”

Harry wasn’t just upset, he was seething. But he knew Hermione was right. After all, she had plenty of practice arguing with jealous Weasleys. Slowly, hesitantly, he nodded. “We’ll discuss this later, Gin.”

“Sure we will, Harry,” Ginny responded scathingly. “You’d actually have to _talk_ to me for that.”

“What is you’re problem!?” Harry yelled, having finally lost his hold over his temper. Ginny appeared unfazed by his display of anger.

“Right now, you are, Harry. You’ve been _avoiding_ me!”

“No, I haven’t.”

“You’ve barely spoken to me since we got here.”

“It’s only been a week! I’ve been busy!”

“Yeah, right. Spending time with the Greasy Git.”

“Snape’s my Mentor.”

“Which I learned from _Neville_. You didn’t even bother to tell me.”

Harry paused, thinking furiously. Hadn’t he? He didn’t want to discuss the Sorting, but had he neglected to even tell her about his placement? “Ah, gods, Gin… I’m sorry.” The apology was sincere. He was still mad, but she did have a good point. “Everything’s been so hectic, and I’ve had a lot on my mind—“

“Which has been your excuse since the end of the war. I’m tired of it, Harry. I’m tired of always coming in second with you.”

“You don’t,” Harry promised. He wondered if he was lying.

“Harry, you were too busy saving _Death Eaters_ to even spend time with me. I’m supposed to be your girlfriend.”

“I thought you understood. They needed me.”

“I did to.” Ginny’s breathing was fast and her eyes were filled with tears. Harry felt like an utter bastard even as he wondered if he would’ve done anything differently.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Me too, Harry.” She gave him one last sad smile and fled down the Owlery stairs. Harry knew Ginny hated crying in front of people because her brothers had teased her for it when she was little. He hated that he was the one to make her cry this time.

He jumped when a hand touched his arm lightly. He’d completely forgotten Hermione was there. “We just broke up, didn’t we?” he asked.

“Unofficially, yes. You might want to do it properly soon.” She managed to sound both lecturing and sympathetic.

“Ron’s going to kill me.”

“Ron’s been expecting this for some time. We all have.”

“Ah, hell.”

Hermione tugged his arm. “Come on. If we hurry, we might not miss all of dinner.”

Harry didn’t say much of anything during dinner. Ginny’s spot at the Gryffindor table was empty. Ron asked him what was wrong, but Harry didn’t know how to answer. Perhaps it was cowardly, but he asked Hermione to explain for him. He tried to ignore their frantically whispered conversation but couldn’t. He hadn’t even eaten two bites off his plate before he pushed away from the table. “I can’t do this right now,” he stated simply. He didn’t tell them it was because the chatter was too loud, too boisterous. Because there was an empty seat across the Hall. Because he was disgusted with himself for hurting someone he cared about or because he was _relieved_ it was over. He couldn’t tell them all that, so he said nothing and hurried from the Great Hall.

Harry didn’t think as he walked; he just let his feet take them where they wanted to go. He wasn’t entirely surprised when they carried him into the Forbidden Forest. He sat down on the ground, cross-legged, and began to dig. He had buried the items with magic, but something about his fingers scrambling in the dirt felt good. Almost a foot down he began to worry, for the first time, that he was digging in the wrong place. Though, honestly, it was hard to forget the place where one died.

Eventually, his fingertips scraped along metal. He quickly uncovered the two boxes and pulled them from the ground. One was square and small enough to fit in his palm. The other was long and thin and rather obviously a wand box. He sat that one aside and cradled the small one in his hand. “ _Open_ ,” he hissed. The lid popped up with a soft click. When he’d first gotten the boxes, he didn’t like the thought of protecting them with Parseltongue, though it was the safest way to keep others from them. He had always been hesitant about using Parseltongue because of Voldemort. Almost a year living with Slytherins and a couple evenings talking to Salazar and it seemed almost natural to speak it. He wondered, idly, if he’d just taken another step in accepting himself.

The Resurrection Stone lay within, nestled on a bed of red velvet. He picked it up. He had no idea who he was summoning, only that he wanted some one he could talk to who wouldn’t judge him. That desire was all he thought of as he rotated the stone in his fingers. Through the fringe of his hair he saw the shimmering blue light of the summoning. He didn’t look up, not at first. It was always bittersweet seeing the spirits of those he loved. Whoever he called didn’t rush him. When Harry finally raised his eyes, he saw James Potter sitting on the ground a few feet from him, leaning on a tree. “Hi Dad,” Harry said quietly.

“Hi Harry.” James’ voice was filled with just as much emotion. Harry took a moment to simply stare at his father, to soak in the pleasure and heartbreak of seeing him again. James sat across the clearing, in an identical pose, and studied his son just as openly.

Ever since he’d entered the Wizarding World, Harry’d heard how much he looked like James Potter. The first time he’d seen him, in the Mirror of Erised, he’d been so happy to see the unruly hair, the glasses, and the lanky frame (though James was rather tall.) So many similarities. For the first time in his young life, Harry was filled with a sense of belonging. Now, he noticed other things. He noticed how confidently James held himself; as though he were used to getting what he wanted in life and didn’t expect it to be any other way. James’ nose was just a bit crooked, making his glasses appear as if they didn’t sit quite straight on his face. Harry noticed he had his mother’s prominent cheek bones, but his dad’s hard jawline. James had apparently needed to shave when he died, or he simply liked the rugged stubble along his cheeks. Most of all, though, Harry noticed how young his dad had been. They were getting closer to being the same age. He wondered how strange it was going to be once he was older than James had been when he died.

“Ginny and I are breaking up,” he announced suddenly.

James shot him a sympathetic look. “Your mother and I have been expecting it for some time now.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. It was only slightly bitter. “Hermione and Ron said the same thing. I guess everybody saw it coming. Except for me and Ginny.”

“Most likely, she saw it too. Girls are smart like that.”

Harry cringed. “Was I that bad a boyfriend?”

“Oh no, son. Not at all! You were just… busy.”

“Funny. That excuse didn’t work too well when I used it.”

His dad chuckled. “Most women just want to be the center of your world. They tend to get upset when they realize they aren’t.”

“So what do you do?”

“I found one I _wanted_ to be the center of my world.”

“Oh.” Harry frowned a bit. “Ron thought I might prefer blokes.”

James roared with laughter. “I give you sage advice about women and you turn the other way,” he chuckled. 

“Would you be mad? If I…ah, if I did?”

James gave his a quizzical look. “Why would I be?”

“The Dursleys —“

“No,” James interrupted. “Don’t let those… _people_ — just don’t. All right? I swear, if it didn’t take time away from watching you, I’d haunt them ‘til their end of days.”

The vehemence and anger was evident in James’ loud voice and the tight line of his lips. It warmed Harry to see how much his father cared. “Thanks, Dad. For the thought at least.”

“Do _not_ live your life to _their_ expectations.” 

“I won’t. I promise.”

“In fact, Harry, you shouldn’t — Merlin, this is difficult. Your mother would have been so much better at this, you know?”

Harry snickered at James’ frustration. “Probably,” he admitted. “But the Powers that Be brought me you.”

James seemed to roll the phrase ‘Powers that Be’ around on his tongue a few times before grinning his approval. “I like it,” he stated.

“Saw it on a TV show.”

“Really? Which one? I always liked—“

“ _Dad_ ,” Harry interrupted. “Didn’t you have some advice for me?”

“Oh, yeah!” James frowned, obviously trying to remember what he’d been saying before he went off on a tangent. When he remembered, his face lit up happily. “Expectations!” he exclaimed.

“What about them?” Harry grinned and settled more comfortably against the tree behind him. The bark scraped his back through his thin t-shirt but he didn’t care. He’d never gotten advice from a parent before! It was exhilarating.

“You’ve been living your life based on other people’s expectations of you, instead of what _you_ want. I think that was part of the reason your relationship with Ginny was doomed from the start.”

“What do you mean?”

“Growing up with Dursleys — I am _still_ sorry about that, son. Albus got an earful about it when he got here.”

“That’s alright. You, ah, were saying?” Keeping his dad on track was rather difficult. He’d always imagined James Potter to be exuberant, but dealing with it first hand was an interesting experience.

“Oh? Ah… oh, right. The Dursleys expected you to cook, clean, and otherwise stay out of sight. So what did you do?”

“I cooked, cleaned, and otherwise stayed out of sight.”

“ _Exactly._ ” James grinned proudly, obviously happy to have made some sort of point. “When you came to Hogwarts and learned who you were, you found out _everyone_ had expectations of you.”

“And I had already trained myself to do what _other_ people wanted instead of what _I_ wanted,” Harry said, catching on.

“Yup.” James beamed. “I’m not sure you’ve ever even thought about what _you_ want, Harry. You’ve been too busy being who your friends think you should be, meeting the expectations of your classmates and teachers — hell, the whole _world._ ”

Harry chuckled, thinking about his mentor. “I, ah, don’t know if I met my teachers’ expectations too well. I’ve been told I have no respect for authority and am a reckless rule breaker.”

“Because _he_ expected you to be. Besides, Snape’s a git.”

“ _Dad_ ,” Harry chided. “Snape is… well, I don’t really know what he is… but just… don’t.”

“Oh, all right.” James gave an annoyed look. “I’m sharing my afterlife with Lily Evans and Albus Dumbledore, Harry. Do you have _any_ idea how many lectures I’ve gotten about Severus Snape?”

Harry hated to admit he was giggling but he was. The mental image of James being sat down and scolded like a recalcitrant First Year was far too amusing. Especially since he knew _exactly_ what the lecture would sound like having heard it himself a time or two. “Did it work?” he asked curiously, knowing how spectacularly Dumbledore’s lectures had failed with him.

“I will now admit that Snape… is a good man.” James’ face twisted up as if the words were actually painful to say. “But he’s still a git,” he added.

“True. On both accounts.”

“I’m glad he’s taken you on as an apprentice, though.”

“Dad…”

“No, Harry, listen to me for a minute. I _am_ glad. You need to learn to use the magic that is best for you.”

“Even if it’s Dark?” the words were so quiet a mortal wouldn’t have heard them. However, James wasn’t exactly mortal anymore. 

“Harry, I’ve been dead for many years and this _isn’t_ our first conversation. I wasn’t really surprised; it made sense.”

“I thought you’d be mad.”

“There you go, expecting things again,” James said with a smile and an eye roll. 

“Okay,” Harry said laughingly. “So maybe I do try to live up to other people’s expectations instead of my own. _You_ were _right_. Happy?”

“Immensely.”

“I still don’t see what that has to do with Ginny, though.”

“Harry… she _was_ somebody else’s expectation for you.”

“Huh?”

“Your _entire_ future plan was based on the general populace’s belief of what you should do with your life: you are supposed to become an Auror, fight Dark Wizards for the rest of your life, while you have pretty little babies with a red-headed witch you married straight out of Hogwarts. Does that sound familiar?”

“Uh…”

“Harry, it is what _I_ did. People are still thinking you are just like me.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly. And I believe I’ve heard you argue — rather vehemently, I might add — that _you_ are _not_ James Potter.”

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Don’t be. It’s the truth. You aren’t me… you’re you.”

“Okay.”

“So do you _really_ want the same things in life I did?”

“Is it insulting if I say no?”

“Not at all. Do what _you_ want. Your mother and I won’t be disappointed in you, not was long as you’re happy.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Harry paused before adding, “You can tell Mum you gave me good advice.”

“Good.” James sounded relieved. “Your mother was worried I’d make a hatch job of it.”

“You didn’t. It helped.”

James flashed a large smile. Harry realized he must have his mother’s smile. He certainly didn’t have James’ dimples. For some reason, the knowledge that his Dad had dimples made him grin. He’d never known so much about him before.

They only talked for a little longer before James stated to feel the pull of the world beyond. They said their good-byes reluctantly. James promised to say hello to everyone for Harry and to give them his love. He said they would be watching over him — not, he added with a wink, too closely.

Harry released his grip on the stone and James faded away. Carefully, he put the stone back in its box and pocketed both of the Hallows. His steps felt lighter as he returned to the castle.  
_______________________________________________

The phrase “Powers that Be” is from the Buffyverse, mainly used on Angel. While it is doubtful Harry ever got a chance to experience the wonder that is Whedon, I couldn’t help but include this.


	10. Confessions of a Boy Wonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry decides he needs to have a conversation with the Malfoys before Hermione meets with her Mentor, but he isn't the only one with that idea.

**Chapter 10 — Confessions of a Boy Wonder**  
Morning came far too early in Harry’s opinion. He’d stayed up late the night before talking to Ron. Then, he’d stayed up even later talking to the Founders. However, the little bit of sleep he did get was restful and he was in high spirits as he made his way down to breakfast. A sense of peace and well-being had settled over him after talking to his dad. It stayed with him, even when he saw Ginny waiting for him in front of the Great Hall.

“Can we talk, Harry?” she asked uncertainly.

Harry nodded, just as hesitant. “Do you, ah, want to go somewhere private?”

Ginny shook her head quickly. “No. This shouldn’t take long.”

“All right.”

“I don’t think I can do this anymore, Harry.” He could tell the words took effort; she was trying hard to sound brave and confident. In a way he was glad Ginny had decided to do this. It was cowardly, he knew, to find it easier to be the one dumped instead of having to break up with her.

“I, um, I know I’ve been distant,” Harry apologized. “I haven’t been there for you _at all_. I… I wish I could say I’ll do better. That I’ll change. But I can’t promise that. Not right now, at least.”

“Oh, Harry,” the young witch said sadly. “I don’t want you to be somebody _else_. You shouldn’t feel like you need to change to be with me.”

“I’m no good for you like this, Gin. You deserve so much better.”

She perked up slightly, a silent ‘ _of course I do_ ’ added to her bearing. “I think we rushed,” she admitted. “We both went through so much during the war. We got back together because—“

“It was expected.”

Ginny nodded. “Neither of us were ready, though.”

The statement startled Harry a bit. He knew _he_ hadn’t been ready, but he didn’t know Gin felt the same way. “I _am_ sorry,” he said softly.

“I know. Me too.”

Ginny started to say more, but a group of Third Years noisily trooped down the stairs. She gave him a hesitant smile and nodded her head toward the Hall. “Should we go in?”

Harry agreed, feeling just as unsure as Ginny was acting. “Are we, ah, still friends?”

“Of course,” she said quickly. “It… it might take time but… yeah. We’re still friends.”

“Good. Am I still an honorary Weasley?”

“Are you kidding me!?” Ginny exclaimed. Harry froze in momentary panic until she added, “Mum would _kill_ me if you stopped coming to the Burrow because of me!”

Harry couldn’t help but smile at her. As she moved off to her seat at the Gryffindor table, he noticed she had a bounce back in her step that had been missing for some time. Dumping Harry Potter, apparently, was quite good for Ginny’s confidence.

Harry was still grinning when he sat down at the Fifth House table in between Hermione and Malfoy. Draco arched a slim brow at him. “Did you and the Weaslette kiss and make up?” the blonde asked.

“Nope,” Harry replied rather cheerfully. “She dumped me.”

“I’m terribly sorry. You seem so broken up about it. Do you need a tissue?”

Harry snorted at the dry comment and stirred some sugar into his tea. “What’re your plans for today?” he asked the Slytherin. “I was thinking about going to see your parents later.”

“I’m having lunch with them in their quarters. You are welcome to join us.”

“You don’t think they’d mind?”

Draco leveled him with a familiar look. Harry blinked when he recognized it. “You’re calling me an idiot, aren’t you?” he snickered.

“Of course I am, Potter.”

“Snape does that look _so_ much better than you,” Harry laughed.

“Where do you think I learned it from?”

“Is that a perk of being his godson? He taught you to call me an idiot with a glance?”

Draco smirked. “No. He taught _all_ the Slytherins that one,” he laughed. Harry punched him, hard, on the thigh. “Ow,” Draco whined. Harry grinned. It had gotten Draco to stop smirking, at least, though the whinging wasn’t much better.

Harry spent most his morning reviewing his Sixth Year Defense. He’d gotten better at non-verbal casting since he’d first taken the class, but he was still nervous about it. He needed to talk to Snape about the Seventh Year curriculum as well. The Seventh Years studied wandless magic. Harry was actually rather proficient at it, but he’d never properly learned the ability. It had just come naturally to him since the final battle. He assumed it had something to do with the Elder Wand, but he didn’t know why the boost in power would make such a difference.

Draco left for his parents’ early, claiming he needed to speak to Lucius about something. Harry made his trek to the dungeons on his own. He’d thought about what Snape had said, and he decided he wanted to tell the family about his studies. His good mood may have been a factor in his decision. It was certainly the reason he entered the parlor triumphantly calling out, “I have an announcement to make!” once Draco let him into the suite.

He froze immediately when he saw Snape looking at him with a cooly raised brow. Draco was snickering behind him. Harry scowled as he sat down silently.

“Draco has already informed us, Mr. Potter, that you have ended your assignation with the Weasley chit,” Snape said in his deep voice. 

Harry turned his glare onto the Defense Master. “You know, sir, it takes a lot less time to say ‘I heard you and Ginny broke up.’ I mean, seriously.”

“Ah, yes, but Severus _enjoys_ being pompous.” Every one in the room gave Lucius an incredulous stare. His lip twitched. “As do I.”

“Obviously,” Harry said, rolling his eyes at the same time Snape murmured a sarcastic, “Indeed.” Snape glared at Harry. He wasn’t certain why. He thought he might be getting blamed for speaking at the same time or something ridiculous. He shrugged it off.

“I believe there was something you wished to share with us, Harry?” Narcissa inquired as she began pouring tea. The small table was laden with delicious looking finger foods and a fancy tea service. 

“Um, no,” he said, accepting a cup, “It’s alright.”

“I can step into the library if need be, Potter.”

Harry stared at Snape in confusion. “What?” he asked dumbly.

“Do you need me to leave?” the professor said slowly. Harry was surprised at the thoughtfulness, even if it was delivered in a rather scathing tone. He also decided Snape was definitely better at the ‘you are an idiot’ glare.

“Oh, no. You already know what I was going to say. But, well, the moment’s passed, I guess.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and something stabbed into his leg. With a mumbled ‘ouch’ he dug into his pocket to retrieve the offending object and startled when his hand closed around a familiar metal box. He thought he’d put them away yesterday. With a slightly evil grin, he pulled the smaller of the two from his pocket. The Slytherins were all looking at him warily, recognizing his smile as one that meant some sort of trouble. “I think you’ll be interested in this, Professor,” he said, tossing the box gently to his teacher. 

Snape caught it easily and examined it, turning it over every which way. “It’s a box,” he said dryly.

“Ten points to Slytherin for observational skills,” Harry declared, earning himself a snarl from Snape.

“I’m beginning to understand why you’ve always called him an impertinent brat,” Lucius drawled, clearly amused despite himself. Harry sent him a mock glare before grinning.

“Nah, I’m not usually _this_ bad.” Snape snorted at the announcement. “I’m just in a good mood.”

“He’s been like this all day,” Draco informed the room.

“Yes, we observed his antics at breakfast,” Snape murmured, still examining the small silver square. “Potter, why did you believe I would have any interest in this box?”

Harry rolled his eyes slightly. “ _Some_ people put things _in_ boxes, Professor.”

“I’m aware of the concept, you impudent child, but this box doesn’t open.”

“I think I need a new mentor,” Harry muttered, earning himself yet another glare. He pulled his wand from his sleeve and intoned _Revelo Praesidium_. The box glowed a soft blue, indicating it was protected by a password.

“Do you plan on _telling_ me the password?” his professor snapped.

Harry smirked. “All you have to do is tell it to open.”

Draco was snickering. “You _are_ in a mood. The type that turns you into a prat.” Harry was pleased to note Lucius was stifling his own chuckles. Only Snape seemed unamused. Draco turned to his godfather. “Severus,” he explained, “Potter guards everything with Parseltongue.”

“And my son does mean _everything_ ,” Lucius said dryly. “He locked the liquor cabinet at Grimmauld Place one night.”

“I did _that_ just to see your lovely scowl, Lucius.”

“As I recall, your liquor cabinet saw my blasting curse,” the aristocrat sneered. This time, Harry was the one to scowl.

“How am I supposed to open the bloody thing, then?” Snape growled impatiently.

“Easy. Repeat after me: _siiiahaathaalaa_.”

“You must be joking.”

“Would I joke about something like this?”

“Yes,” all the Malfoys answered together. Harry grinned at them unrepentantly.

“We’ll do this slowly. Draco, you should take notes if you want to steal my Firewhiskey. _Siii-a-haa-thaa-laa_.”

Snape simply continued to glare at him. Harry repeated the phrase again slowly. Still nothing. “Oh, come one,” he said in exasperation. “ _Ron_ could figure it out.”

“I believe that was a challenge, Severus,” Lucius commented. He wore an amused smirk. He was evidently entertained watching Harry taunt his friend. “You clearly do not want to be bested by a Weasley.”

Snape scowled before intoning the Parseltongue perfectly in his quiet, deep voice. The box opened with a click. Harry flashed a brilliant smile as Snape lifted the lid and peered inside. “Potter,” he said worriedly, “Is this what I think it is?”

“Yup.” Snape continued to stare into the box, looking slightly awed. “It’s a Horcrux,” Harry added cheekily. The box snapped closed. Snape clearly recognized the small, black stone as one of the Deathly Hallows. He had not, however, known it was one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes. “Oh, don’t be like that!” Harry chided, taking back the box and opening it quickly. He removed the stone, handling it carelessly since he knew it only worked if the summoner was alone. He knelt on the floor by his professor’s feet and held the rock out for inspection. “You see that,” he said, pointing to a crack along the polished face of the stone. “I thought it happened when Dumbledore destroyed the ring, but all the Horcruxes were broken in the same way.”

Snape carefully took the stone and studied it closely. Then, one long index finger brushed Harry’s fringe aside. The stained digit traced the faded lightning bolt scar almost reverently. Their eyes met and held. “Is it also…” he trailed off, obviously not wanting to say anything about the Hallows in front of the Malfoys.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Thank you,” Snape murmured softly. “I never before understood why—“

“He put the ring on,” Harry finished.

Snape nodded, breaking their eye contact.

“Do you feel like we’re missing something here?” Draco drawled, annoyed at being left out of the spotlight. Suddenly remembering he wasn’t alone with Snape, Harry blushed and scrambled back to his chair. He quickly locked the Stone away.

“Actually, Draco, I found it _most_ enlightening.” Lucius smiled evilly. “I gave our Severus a piece of advice some days ago, and it appears he is going to follow it.”

“ _Lucius_ ,” Snape growled in warning.

For a moment, Narcissa’s quiet laughter was the only sound in the room. While the Malfoy Matriarch might’ve been amused by whatever Lucius was referring to, Snape clearly wasn’t pleased with Lucius for bringing it up. Harry cleared his throat, affectively ending the staring match between the two men. “Um… speaking of advice,” he said awkwardly, “Professor Snape gave me some the other day, too.”

“You think _now_ is the right time, Potter?” Snape sneered.

“If you’d rather, sir, we can go back to discussing the advice Lucius gave you.”

Snape’s sneer faded. “Pray tell, then, Potter, please continue.”

Harry snickered, wondering if that should be worth points. He stalled for a second while he grabbed a plate and some small sandwiches. He looked at the Pureblood family, one by one, as he settled back in his chair. He wasn’t entirely certain how to say what he needed to tell them. “Professor Snape thinks I should tell you about what I learned from the Sorting Hat,” he began.

Draco sucked in a noisy breath. “Were you right?”

Harry nodded. “And there’s more.”

“Draco told us you were concerned, Harry, but he wouldn’t tell us why.” Narcissa sounded slightly hurt.

“Ah, yeah… that’s sorta my fault. I may have added a safeguard to the privacy spells.”

Snape sent ‘the eyebrow’ in his direction. “ _May_ have?”

“All right, I did. I used _Ne Arcanum Sciri_ ,” he admitted. The hurt look on Draco’s face twisted his gut. “I’m sorry, Malfoy. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you. I just…” he sucked in a deep breath. “I wasn’t ready for anybody else to know my core is best aligned with Dark Magic.” The words left him in a rush.

“Congratulations, Mr. Potter,” Lucius said with a hint of teeth.

“For being a Dark Wizard?”

“For admitting it.”

“Professor Snape told you, didn’t he?” Harry tried to glare at Snape, but the man’s murmur of ‘Obviously’ was so droll that he snickered. It rather ruined the effect.

“I’m sure you understand why the utmost discretion is required,” Snape said unnecessarily. “I will be training Potter in both Defense and the Dark Arts.” Lucius raised a questioning brow and Snape immediately added, “The second part is, of course, only a verbal contract and is _not_ an acknowledged part of his apprenticeship contract.” He rolled his eyes slightly, clearly annoyed that Lucius suspected him of being enough of an idiot to put _that_ in writing.

“Is the Headmistress aware of it?” Lucius asked curiously.

“She at least suspects. Minerva is not a fool.”

“The Sorting Hat might have told her,” Harry pointed out.

“It was rather… adamant that I become Potter’s Mentor. It said he needed to understand and be able to control his magic.” He gave Harry a questioning look. Harry nodded hesitantly. “It implied I was needed to keep him from becoming a Dark Lord even more powerful than Tom Riddle.”

Lucius blanched and Draco cursed softly. “You weren’t lying, Potter, when you said there was more.”

“I, er, that wasn’t what I was referring to,” Harry stammered, flushing slightly.

Snape snorted. “What Potter is failing horribly at saying is that the Hat discovered he, like Draco, possesses a natural gift.”

Draco’s forehead furrowed in confusion. “He’s a Healer too?”

“No, Draco, he isn’t.” Harry snickered when he noticed _he_ wasn’t the only one Snape would give the ‘you are an idiot’ glare to.

“I’m a Necromancer,” he blurted. Three pairs of blue-grey eyes stared at him in shock. The scrutiny made Harry shift nervously in his seat.

Lucius was the first to recover. “That explains something I was quite curious about.” He studied Snape for a long moment. “You truly were dead, weren’t you, old friend?”

“Pardon?” Snape had completely blanked his expression.

“He was only _mostly_ dead,” Harry said, trying to be helpful. It earned him a scowl from Snape.

“Yes,” his professor finally admitted. “I was dead for several hours.”

“But he got better.”

“Really, Potter?” Snape stared at Harry as though he’d gone completely mad. “Are you _really_ quoting Muggle movies _now_?”

“I didn’t think anybody would notice,” Harry said, blushing. “I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Half-bloods,” Lucius grumbled. Two eerily identical glares turned on him. Then, Harry suddenly figured out how to turn the conversation away from _him_. 

“That reminds me, Lucius,” Harry said, tone unnaturally chipper. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” Draco choked; he looked to be stifling a laugh.

Lucius sighed. “Go right ahead, Harry.”

“You have a meeting with my best friend tomorrow.”

“Yes, and I’m sure if I give Ms. Granger a fair chance, don’t judge her merely by her birth, and listen to her carefully, I will be utterly astounded by her knowledge and attitude toward wizarding traditions.”

Draco lost the battle against his laughter. Finally, between giggles, he choked out, “There’s a line for this lecture, Potter. Severus and I were here first.”

Harry was surprised, and very pleased, to hear they’d both been worried. Draco wasn’t too shocking. Harry had seen around Hermione’s Notice-Me-Not the other night. He didn’t know what they’d been saying, but Hermione was comforting Draco. Snape, though, had always called Hermione a Know-it-all and that was when he _wasn’t_ being unusually cruel.

“With that being the case, Harry, could we consider your warning given and continue on with our lunch?”

Harry pouted. “It’s no _fun_ if I don’t _actually_ get to say the words,” he stated petulantly.

“Very well, then.” Lucius gave a heavy sigh and waited patiently for Harry to lecture him.

“Will you at least try? Give her a fair chance. She _will_ surprise you.”

“I will… try.”

“I hear a ‘but’ in your voice, Lucius.”

“My beliefs are rather ingrained. I cannot promise I will see beyond them.”

“Then you aren’t as intelligent as I thought.” Harry took a deep breath and prepared to be hexed. “Even more disappointing, it would prove you don’t care about our world as much as you’ve always claimed.” He heard a sharp intake of breath but he didn’t break eye contact with Lucius to see who he’d shocked. “I am considered the most powerful wizard alive. I’ve already changed our world and most likely I will continue to do so. And I will do it with Hermione Granger by my side. She will be an active force - a strong one - in how this new world order is formed. _You_ have the opportunity to be part of it as well.”

Lucius looked a bit sour. However, he didn’t hex Harry. He just gave him a curt nod. “I will consider what you’ve said, Potter.”

The use of his surname hurt, but he rather expected it. He had just called the man a bigot, after all. “So…” Harry said, forcing a bright smile, “Did you manage to sneak any of the Infamous Malfoy Dark Arts Collection past the Ministry? Do you have any books on Necromancy?”

Everyone was thankful for the subject change. As they talked the accumulated tension drained away. The argument was all but forgotten, remaining only in the stiff shoulders and the nervous laughter. Surprisingly, it was Snape who helped the situation the most. He’d spoken to Madame Pomfrey about Draco’s apprenticeship and had learned quite a few of her planned courses of study. Draco was excited about some of the projects. While he’d grown up learning Dark Theory, he’d never studied how it was adapted into socially acceptable magic.

As Snape began to say his farewells, Harry rose and excused himself too. “Professor, sir, if you don’t mind, I will walk you out. I have a few questions, if you have a moment.”

Snape accepted with a curt nod. He didn’t even look at Harry as he strolled briskly down the hall toward his office. Since he had much shorter legs, Harry had a bit of difficulty keeping up. Twice he had to dodge Snape’s billowing cloak.

“Sir?” he panted as they reached the juncture which lead to the Professor’s corridor. Snape whirled on him quickly. 

“What, Potter?” he spat. “I do _not_ have time for your inane babble.”

“Then its a good thing I didn’t actually have question for you, isn’t it?” Harry retorted with a glare. It seemed to confuse Snape a bit.

“Pardon?” 

“I wanted to tell you I talked to the Founders about… my studies.”

“I am pleased for you. Now I have real work to do, Potter.”

His teacher started to leave, but Harry’s words stopped him. “Salazar not only had Library but a Potions’ Lab. He believes the preservation spells on the Chamber are still intact.”

“I will accompany you when you search the Chamber,” Snape stated firmly.

“Sal asked me not to yet. He said Fifth House isn’t ready. We need to be further along in our studies or something.”

“Very well. Is that all?” Snape was already turning away.

“Yes, sir,” Harry mumbled, wondering what had happened to his earlier camaraderie with Snape.

“Potter?” Snape said, stopping _him_ from leaving this time. “Tell Ms. Granger being a Know-it-all will work to her advantage tomorrow.”

Harry would’ve responded, but Snape was already walking away.

_______________________________________________________  
Muggle Quotes:   
Once again, The Princess Bride snuck into the story. “ _It just so happens that your friend here is only MOSTLY dead. There's a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. Mostly dead is slightly alive._ ”  
Harry’s next comment is, of course, a reference to Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

Spells Used:  
 _revelare praesidium_ — to reveal the protections of  
 _ne arcanum sciri_ \- lest the secret be known


	11. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione attempts to mentally prepare herself for her meeting with her mentor. The Slytherins, though, have decided to help prepare her in other ways.

** Chapter 11 - First Impressions **

Hermione forced herself to eat a sensible breakfast Sunday morning. Too much food, she knew, and she would feel lethargic. Too little would make it hard to concentrate. She very carefully ate until she was full and no more. She only drank one cup of tea, instead of her traditional two; she didn’t want to become jittery. An outside observer might have thought she appeared calm and in control. They would’ve been quite wrong. She was overcompensating, obsessing about everything she did. She was doing it out of fear, she knew. She was horribly afraid her potential mentor would deem her unworthy, not good enough to teach. She was angry at herself about it, too; she shouldn’t _care_ what _Lucius Malfoy_ thought of her. She never had before! She’d studiously avoided the elder Malfoy every time she’d visited Grimmauld Place because she didn’t want to deal with his bigotry. Frankly, she didn’t want to deal with it now, either. 

However, Hermione saw the advantages of studying as his apprentice. If she truly wanted to make an impact on the Wizarding World, she would need to understand the traditions, laws, and history better. It was doubtful Hermione would have too many opportunities to learn Pureblood culture, and she was smart enough to know she _could_ learn from the Death Eater. What really worried her was that she was optimistic enough to also hope the Malfoys could learn from her as well. Harry had high hopes they could be redeemed. She didn’t want her friend disappointed. Unfortunately, it put even more stress on her shoulders to make a good impression.

As she was leaving breakfast, Daphne Greengrass caught up to her in the halls. “What time is your meeting?” the Slytherin girl asked, a bit breathless from the jog to reach Hermione before she got too far ahead. 

“Couple of hours yet.”

“Good. We’ve got enough time,” Daphne exclaimed, grabbing Hermione’s hand and pulling her through the Fifth House portal. She didn’t even pause in the Common Room as she tugged them up the girl’s dormitory stairs. The first room on the left was Daphne and Padma’s room, and the Slytherin girl pulled Hermione into it and ordered her to sit on the bed. Hermione glanced around curiously. Hermione’s own room, shared with Hannah, was pristine and neat all the time. Daphne’s was not, to put it lightly. It was even messier than Pavarti and Lavender’s room! Robes and skirts of various colors were draped over every available surface. Daphne’s desk, instead of being covered in books and scrolls like Padma’s, was covered with random potion vials as was the small shelf below the mirror. The books and parchment were instead piled haphazardly next to and on the bed. Daphne’s quill and ink well were crowded onto the small bedside table with her lamp.

Daphne left Hermione sitting there, staring around the room in confusion, while she crawled into her large wardrobe. “Are you nervous?” she asked, voice muffled from inside the piece of furniture.

“Not at all,” Hermione lied.

Daphne stuck her head out and gave Hermione a brief look. It quickly turned to one of disbelief. “Yes, you are,” she announced before disappearing again. “Anybody with a lick of sense would be nervous meeting with Lucius Malfoy. I’ve heard many things about you, Granger, and none of them said you lacked sense.” Daphne said, crawling back out and dragging a pile of brown fabric with her. “But they all agreed, some of them grudgingly, that you are brilliant.”

“Please call me Hermione.”

“Sure. Call me Daphne,” the Slytherin said, giving Hermione a strangely assessing look.

“Thank you, Daphne. Though I must say… you aren’t helping my nerves at all.”

Daphne laughed. “Do you think you’re brilliant, Hermione?”

“No. I’m highly logical and am able to analyze details that others don’t take into consideration.”

Daphne scoffed at the answer. “Well, here is one detail you overlooked: you can _not_ go to your meeting with Mr. Malfoy looking like a Muggleborn.

“But I am a Muggleborn.”

“Use your ‘highly logical’ brain, Granger. If you go looking like you do now, _all_ Malfoy will see is a Mudblood. It is doubtful he will even hear what you say.”

“What do you suggest?” Hermione asked, knowing the Slytherin had something up her sleeve.

“Present yourself as a Pureblood. He will _know_ what you are, but he will relax slightly even if he doesn’t realize it.”

“You mean it would be a subconscious reaction,” Hermione said carefully, trying to figure out if Daphne had just called her a Mudblood or not. “I can see your reasoning.”

“Good. Then strip.”

“What?!”

“I’m going to fix your hair and make-up first. I don’t want to mess it up when you take off your jumper. So strip.”

Hermione gaped at the girl, but Daphne had already turned away to examine the different bottles on the desk. Blushing, Hermione pulled her shirt off. She held it crumpled to her chest even though Daphne still wasn’t looking at her.

“Take everything off,” the other witch ordered. Turning an even more brilliant shade of crimson, Hermione stood, maneuvered around the books and removed all her clothes. Daphne was watching her now. Hermione could tell, though she couldn’t seem to lift her eyes from the floor. Shyly, she forced herself to glance up. Daphne was staring at her critically, causing Hermione to shift in embarrassment. Finally, Daphne handed her a red silk dressing gown. “It’s a shame you always wear Muggle clothes,” Daphne said, once Hermione was covered. “You are built perfectly to wear witches’ robes.”

“I always thought robes made me look plain.”

“Then you are wearing the wrong type of robes,” Daphne said, smirking. She tilted the chair by the desk, dumping the pile of clothes on it to the floor. “Sit,” she commanded.

Hermione did as ordered, looking at Daphne questioningly. “I know Brown and Patil gave you a makeover the other night, but I’m going to teach you the _right_ way to do it,” she informed Hermione with a supercilious air.

“What was wrong with what they did?”

“Nothing, in theory. You looked fine.”

“But?”

“But they used _Charms_. You don’t want to use Charms. In fact, go ahead and remove the ones you’re wearing.”

Hermione hesitated before complying. The only visible change was her hair frizzed a bit more and a small blemish on her forehead appeared. “Why shouldn’t I use Charms?” she asked curiously.

“Partially because your hair and skin are both a bit dry. They really are better suited for Potions instead. However, it is mainly because Mr. Malfoy will most likely be wearing something which will allow him to see if any illusionary magics have been used.”

“How do you know?”

“It is a common practice among… some wizards.”

“Purebloods. That is what you were going to say, isn’t it?”

“Actually, no. Though it is usually best to assume all Purebloods are wearing one.”

Hermione thought about what Daphne wasn’t saying. “It’s because he uses Dark magic,” she stated, voice confident. “It’s a Dark Arts spell that allows him to see through Charms.”

“Good guess. Highly logical, indeed,” Daphne said with a slight laugh. The Slytherin was still standing behind Hermione, doing _something_ to Hermione’s hair, though she couldn’t tell what. “Hold this,” she ordered, thrusting a large bottle into Hermione’s hands. Then, Daphne began to smooth her fingers through Hermione’s hair gently. 

“Do you know much about the Dark Arts?” Hermione asked curiously. She never had anybody she _could_ talk about the Dark Arts with.

“I’m not certain I should tell you anything more about it,” Daphne replied hesitantly. 

“I won’t get anybody into trouble,” Hermione promised. “I swear. But… I _want_ to learn this.” She couldn’t explain why it felt so important, but it did. 

Daphne hesitated and her hands in Hermione’s hair slowed. Finally, she seemed to reach some sort of decision. “I’m sure you’ve heard Dark Magic does not come without cost?” she said quietly after a moment.

“Of course.” Hermione didn’t admit that she knew little else about it. It just wasn’t talked about. Ever. By anyone she knew.

“The cost is a wizard’s sanity. There is a reason all Dark Lords go quite mad.” 

Hermione gasped, horrified by the concept. Daphne ignored the shocked sound and took the bottle back from her. She poured a large dollop into one of her palms and awkwardly capped the potion and set it aside. She continued talking when she was once more playing with Hermione’s hair. “There are safeguards, of course. One of which is the item I told you about.”

“I’m assuming Voldemort didn’t use any?” Hermione said sarcastically. “He was quite mad.”

“I wouldn’t know. My family had very little to do with the Death Eaters.”

“Oh.”

Daphne didn’t say anything at first. She picked up a hairbrush from the desk and showed it to Hermione. “You have to use a hairbrush with natural boar bristles when you use this potion. Plastic bristles won’t work well,” she said, pulling the soft bristles through Hermione’s hair. “Did you assume we were Death Eaters just because I’m a Slytherin?”

Hermione thought about it before saying, “No. I… guess it was because you seemed to know about the Dark Arts.”

Daphne froze for a second before continuing, both her brushing and the conversation. “I’m not a Practitioner. I simply know the theory.”

“I’m sorry I sounded judgmental.”

“That would be because you _were_ being judgmental.”

Hermione flushed with embarrassment. “I don’t mean to be.”

“You _can’t_ be prejudiced too, Hermione. Not if you plan on working with Mr. Malfoy.” Daphne put the hairbrush down and knelt in front the chair, facing the Gryffindor. “I don’t believe you recognize the complete ramifications of what is happening in our world right now.”

Hermione bristled. “I’m not ignorant.”

“I didn’t say you were. But you _are_ only looking at everything through one perspective. That of the Light,” Daphne told her gently as she took Hermione’s chin in her hand. She titled her face upwards and stared into it for a moment. “The war wasn’t _just_ caused by the Dark Lord’s madness. The Ministry restricts anything it believes is Dark and it… it angers a great many people.”

Hermione couldn’t help but think of Remus Lupin and the hard life he’d led under the strict Ministry control. Lupin was considered Dark, but he was one of the sweetest and gentlest people she’d ever met. But he couldn’t _help_ being Dark since he was a werewolf. Dark Wizards had a _choice_ , didn’t they?

Daphne stood long enough to grab another bottle from the shelf under the mirror. “We are living in a monumental time,” she pointed out, casting a quick _Scourgify_ on her hands. “There is a cycle in the war between the Light and the Dark,” she continued as she dabbed some of the potion lightly onto Hermione’s face. “A Dark Lord rises and a Savior emerges to defeat him. The Light is victorious and Dark Wizards everywhere are persecuted. The strict conditions for Practitioners gives rise to another Dark Lord and the cycle continues. It has been this way for a thousand years. Until Harry Potter.”

“How did he change it?” Hermione asked. Or tried to, at least. Daphne was holding her chin again and it made the words come out muddled. Fortunately, the Slytherin seemed to understand. 

“Potter didn’t immediately lobby to restrict the Dark Arts nor did he punish all the Dark Lord’s followers. In fact, he argued for clemency. And won! For the first time, there is a possibility of the cycle being broken.”

“Is that why the Malfoys have befriended Harry?”

“It is doubtful they are unaware of the implications. But I get the impression people simply _like_ Potter once they get to know him.”

Hermione grinned. With Daphne holding her chin, it squished her face oddly. She was glad when the Slytherin let go. “Harry does have that effect on people.”

Daphne pulled away and looked at Hermione. She dabbed a bit more potion on her brow before cleaning her hands again. She dipped a feather into a small pot and began brushing it ticklishly across Hermione’s cheeks. “Stand up and turn around.”

Hermione did and immediately gasped. She examined her reflection in the small mirror carefully. Her hair was no longer frizzy and bushed out around her shoulders. Instead, it hung in smooth waves which formed large curls at the bottom. Her skin looked flawless and seemed to sparkle softly in the room’s candlelight. “Daphne, this is…” Hermione stopped, unable to find the appropriate word.

The Slytherin shrugged as if it were no big deal. “My hair untreated is actually quite a bit like yours. I started using this potion _years_ ago.”

“Can I have the recipe?” Hermione asked eagerly. It made Daphne laugh slightly. 

“You do look wonderful. But we’re only half done!” she announced, grabbing one of the garments she’d selected earlier. “Put this on,” she said, handing it to Hermione. 

Hermione took the dress and looked at it. “I don’t know how,” she admitted causing Daphne to giggle again. Then, before Hermione even realized what she was doing, Daphne reached over and yanked the sash tying the robe closed. Hermione jerked the red silk back around her and clutched it tightly.

“I doubt you want to wear _that_ to your appointment,” Daphne pointed out. Hermione refused to let go of the robe anyhow. “You need my help to get dressed,” Daphne snapped. “Stop being shy.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Hermione dropped her hands and let the garment slide from her shoulders. Daphne knelt in front of her again, holding the dress so it flared open. “Step into it,” she instructed. Hermione did so, relieved when Daphne stood and pulled the dress up to cover her. The fabric was cool and silky as it slid up her body, causing Hermione to shiver slightly at the sensation. She slipped her arms into the sleeves, holding the garment in place herself as Daphne moved to the lacings at the back. The Slytherin began tying the multitude of ribbons. “You are a bit fuller in the chest than I am, so more of your back will be exposed. Don’t worry about it, though, because you will be wearing an over robe.”

Hermione nodded and nervously smoothed the thick silk across her stomach. “How do you put this on by yourself?” she asked curiously.

“There’s, um, there’s a spell you can use. To tie up the lacings.” For some reason, Daphne sounded a bit embarrassed. Hermione didn’t know why. She shivered again when Daphne’s knuckles brushed against the small of her back. “I’ll teach you the spell later, if you want,” she promised, moving away from Hermione for a moment. A second later she was back. She wrapped her arms around the Gryffindor’s waist, startling her, before sliding them slowly around Hermione’s hips. A weight settled there, and Hermione felt foolish, realizing the Slytherin was doing nothing more than putting a belt on the garment. She looked down at the accessory. It looking like intricately woven rope made from golden threads. A brown leather wand sheath hung low on one side, which pleased Hermione. She wouldn’t want to be without her wand around Lucius, and she was rather pleased she’d be obviously armed.

“There’s a protection spell on the belt,” Daphne told her, breath tickling where it feathered across the back of Hermione’s neck. “I don’t think Mr. Malfoy will recognize my mother’s magical signature, but I thought I should warn you that he might.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said breathlessly. She wondered what it would’ve been like, having a mother who was a witch. She didn’t regret her upbringing, but the idea of getting charmed clothes and learning beauty potions as a little girl made her a touch wistful. 

“It will be easier to put on the outer robe in you gather the sleeves of the dress,” Daphne suggested. Hermione obliged, catching the abundance of material in her fingers and pulling quite a bit of it into her fists. “Here,” the Slytherin offered, holding the sleeveless robe so Hermione could slip it on. Once it was settled on her shoulders, she let go of the material in her hands, glad to see it hadn’t wrinkled. At all. There must have been a charm involved, she recognized absently. 

Daphne slid her hands down Hermione’s upper arms, adjusting the fall of the underdress. The light caress tickled slightly, causing Hermione to tremble under her fingers. Daphne pulled away quickly and circled her. She wore a slight smile as she examined the Gryffindor. Hermione tried to get a mental picture of herself. It didn’t work well. She’d never worn anything like this before. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be a full length mirror anywhere in the room.

Daphne knelt before her, sliding her feet into butter soft beige slippers. She immediately resized them so they fit comfortably on Hermione’s slightly smaller feet. Only then did the Slytherin cast a spell on the bathroom’s door, creating a full length reflection. “Sorry,” she apologized, “my mirror spell is always a bit wavy.”

Hermione wasn’t listening to her, though. She was too busy staring at herself in shock.

The underdress was a pale gold, light enough it could almost be considered cream. The sleeveless outer robe was a rich caramel. Both looked fabulous with her slightly tanned skin and dark brown hair. The dress gently hugged her body to her hips where it widened into a full skirt. The low-hanging belt elongated her torso and made her waist look absurdly tiny.

The top of the dress was rather low for Hermione’s usual tastes, but she admitted it looked good. The wide neckline was off the shoulder, showing a hint of skin between the dress and the outer robe. The creamy silk sleeves were snug down to her elbows where they fell in long folds past her wrists. She raised her arms slightly and the fabric, split along the forearm, draped gracefully from her elbow. She turned slightly, feeling the skirt dance around her legs at the movement. The outer robe had a wide hood, lined with the same pale material as the dress. The pearl buttons that ran down the length of the robe caught the light and flashed brightly. 

Hermione was amazed at how different she looked. Daphne, though, was chewing her lip in thought. “I think we should pull your hair up,” she said, demonstrating with her own hair. She grabbed it in a low tail and twisted it upwards. The softly curled ends hung down and brushed the nape of her neck.

Hermione copied the move, being careful not to accidentally catch the long sleeves of the dress. Daphne flinched, almost imperceptibly, but seemed to approve of the hairstyle since she grabbed a gold clasp from her desk and pinned Hermione’s hair in place.

“You’re still missing something,” she said, rummaging through her jewelry box. “Are your ears pierced?” she asked, holding up a pair of gold hoops with a long pearl drop on them.

“They’re pierced,” Hermione answered, taking the earrings and slipping them onto her ears.

“Keep them,” Daphne said. “They look better on you. My hair is too pale for pearls,” she added, tugging one honey colored lock. “You look perfect,” she said after a moment. “Except for one thing.”

“What?” Hermione asked, wondering what the Slytherin could possibly think to add to the outfit next. Daphne, though, didn’t give a clue at first. She just continued to study Hermione critically.

“You’re still wearing a glamour,” she said eventually, nodding at Hermione’s arm. The Gryffindor immediately cradled the limb to her chest.

“I know,” she admitted softly. “It’s… ah… it would be best if I left it on.”

“Do you really want _Lucius Malfoy_ , of all people, to see you wearing a glamour on your left forearm. One that, if I’m not mistaken, is only used to cover Dark Magic?”

“I-I didn’t think about that,” Hermione said, realizing the implications. “Still, it would be best if I left the glamour on.”

Daphne raised her eyebrows questioningly. Hermione hesitated and then gave a heavy sigh. The Slytherin witch had gone out of her way to help her, for no apparent reason. She’d told her more than she should, most likely, about her knowledge of the Dark Arts. Hermione knew she needed to be honest as well or risk losing their newfound friendship. She pulled her wand from the sheath at her waist and cast a silent _Revelo_. The scar revealed was an angry red and ridged. Daphne gasped upon seeing it. With hesitant fingers she reached out and traced the word ‘ _Mudblood_ ’ etched in the Gryffindor’s arm. “What happened?” she asked gently.

“We were captured by Snatchers and taken to Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix Lestrange… she… she carved it into me. The knife was cursed. The more we tried to heal it, the worse it scarred.”

“I’m sorry.”

Hermione shrugged and silently recast the glamour.

“I noticed you didn’t ask the obvious question,” Daphne said awkwardly.

“About how you knew of the glamour? Daphne, I’m not thick. I already assumed that there are Dark Practitioners in your family.”

“More of your prejudice?”

“Not at all. You admitted to studying theory, at least, so I knew you weren’t opposed to the Dark Arts. Plus, you knew why the charm was used, even if you didn’t say so right out. Finally, when you spoke of breaking the cycle of war, you spoke with passion. I could tell you had a personal investment in gaining leniency toward the Dark Arts.”

“I didn’t lie. I’m not a Practitioner.” Daphne paused, glancing away. “My brother and sister are. They go to Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. My parents sent them there because they were worried about Dumbledore giving them grief even though we _weren’t_ followers of the Dark Lord. It was safe for me to go here because I’m not a Practitioner.”

“Why do you wear the charm, then?”

Daphne shrugged. “It’s useful.” She gave the hint of a smile. “Mother made the pendants for my siblings because they both came here for the Triwizard Tournament. She made one for me, too. I don’t know if she hopes I’ll practice someday or if she just didn’t want me to feel slighted because they got one and I didn’t.”

Hermione frowned slightly. “If the pendant is only worn by Dark Practitioners, wouldn’t it make more sense for them _not_ to wear it while here?”

“There is a contradiction in Ministry law,” Daphne explained. “While it is against the law to practice the Dark Arts, using any of the safe guards can grant leniency for the Practitioner. In some cases, the Ministry _requires_ people to use them.”

“What are the safeguards?” Hermione asked curiously. She wasn’t certain why it felt so vital she learn this. Maybe it was _just_ because she intended to study with Lucius and thought she needed a better understanding of the Dark Arts, but for some reason it felt paramount that she understand.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes,” Hermione said with conviction. 

“There are only two that are commonly used. They are the only ones I know much about,” Daphne said, flopping down onto her bed casually. Hermione perched on the edge of Padma’s bed, and waited. “Most Practitioners use what is called a Grounder. _Nobody’s_ magical core is completely Light or completely Dark. Using the Dark Arts creates an imbalance, darkness in the core where it shouldn’t be. A Grounder helps the caster absorb the Dark Magic into their core, keeping it balanced. An unbalanced core can lead to greater mental instability and is believed to be the cause behind some of history’s worst Dark Lords.”

Hermione nodded absently while she tried to absorb everything she was hearing.

“ _Every_ Practitioner should work with a Grounder,” Daphne continued. “Unfortunately, most Grounders are also the one _teaching_ the Practitioner and teaching Dark Arts _is_ against Ministry law so a lot of people won’t admit to working with one.”

“Wouldn’t it be best to separate the two roles then?”

“Eventually most Practitioners do. But there is a reason whole families are considered Light or Dark.”

“Parents,” Hermione said in realization. “They act as both teacher and Grounder to their own children.”

Daphne nodded. “Until the child is old enough to choose their own Grounder, yes. A Practitioner caught by the Ministry is expected to name both their teachers and their Grounders. My sister had a friend who was caught. They expected her to give up her parents as her teachers. She refused so they sent her to Azkaban until she did. She was twelve at the time.”

Hermione gasped, outraged. To treat a child so, even if she was a Dark Witch, was absolutely appalling. “That makes no sense; they need to learn,” she cried indignantly. “Tom Riddle was from a Dark Family - the Gaunts. But he was an orphan. He was practicing by the time he was fifteen! I doubt he had any knowledge of imbalances and grounders because there was nobody to teach him!”

Daphne nodded, glad to see the Gryffindor’s vexation. “The Ministry’s strict laws against the Dark Arts make it almost impossible for those without practicing parents to learn these things. They attempt to prohibit them completely, but they can’t. Witches and wizards will automatically gravitate toward the type of magic that is best for them. Without knowledge of the consequences, the chances of a new Dark Lord rising is increased.”

“That is horrible,” Hermione declared. “I always heard people say the Ministry laws were to blame for the way Dark Wizards acted but I didn’t know _why_. I just thought they were rebelling against the strictures.”

“Oh, they are, to a large degree. Nobody likes having their way of life suppressed, Hermione. All creatures want the freedom to act as is their nature,” Daphne added with a smirk. Hermione flinched, slightly, knowing the Slytherin was referring to her crusade to change how House Elves acted as servants. 

“Are all forms of protection passed through the parents?” Hermione asked, getting back to the earlier conversation before she could be lectured about SPEW.

“Grounding is the only way to _stop_ an imbalance, though most Practitioners use the pendant anyway. It… protects against the effects caused by the beginnings of madness.”

“Can anyone make one of the pendants?” Hermione asked curiously. She couldn’t help but wonder if there was _something_ Tom Riddle could have done, _should_ have done, to prevent himself from becoming what he did.

“Yeah,” Daphne nodded. “A solo Practitioner can even make their own, but they are more powerful when created by those who are well-versed in the Grounding spells.” She was studying Hermione’s rapt expression. “You find this all fascinating, don’t you?”

“I do,” Hermione admitted. “I’ve heard of the Dark Arts, of course. Even read a bit about them. But nobody ever _talks_ about them. Not in Gryffindor, at least, and certainly not to a Mudblood.”

“Don’t call yourself that,” Daphne ordered. 

“Why not? Other people call me that.”

“You’re better than that, Hermione,” Daphne argued fiercely. “You can’t let people make you believe you are less than you are or else they win.”

Hermione studied the girl carefully. Daphne’s pale green eyes brightened during her impassioned defense and her creamy skin was flushed slightly. She really was beautiful, Hermione observed. The only Slytherin girls she’d noticed while in school were those who’d gone out of their way to be mean to her, like Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode. It had been a joke, in Gryffindor, that Slytherin got all the ugly ones. Shame none of them had noticed Daphne back then.

Still, though, Hermione doubted Daphne’s defense was entirely for her own benefit. She guessed, rather astutely, that it had been difficult for the girl being a Light Witch in a Dark Family. She wondered how many insults Daphne had to put up with in Slytherin because of it. Obviously, the opinions in Slytherin hadn’t been completely swayed against it. She had the support of both Malfoy and Zabini, which indicated she’d been rather influential in the Snake pit.

Hermione thought there was a good chance they could become quite close friends. It was a rather nice thought, as Ginny was her only close female friend and they’d drifted apart since the end of the war. “Thank you, Daphne,” she said sincerely. “For all of this,” she said, gesturing to herself. “For talking to me, helping me understand.”

“You’re welcome,” Daphne said, flashing a smile that lit her entire face. She jumped up from her bed and moved to sit next to Hermione. “Do you want to know another secret?” she whispered, leaning in close. Mutely, Hermione nodded. Daphne pulled a silver necklace out from where it was hidden under her blouse and cast a charm on it. The small pendant of the Slytherin crest shimmered and changed as the glamour was removed. She leaned even closer to Hermione so the girl could look at it.

“It’s beautiful,” Hermione said with complete honesty. The pendant was small, smaller than the crest had been, and was likewise silver. The metal, though, was brightly enameled. Hermione realized it was a stylized peacock feather. She also realized what Daphne was truly showing her. This was _the_ pendant. The one that allowed her to see through glamours.

“The charm will always be placed on the image of a peacock feather,” Daphne whispered as if she were revealing a vital secret. “It is part of the ritual used to create them. Peacocks are symbols of death and rebirth, like the Phoenix, and their eyes guard against illusion.”

Hermione looked up, to smile at the other witch, and was surprised at how close together they were sitting. Daphne’s eyes glanced down at Hermione’s lips. She licked them nervously and Daphne glanced back up and leaned in closer. For a moment, Hermione thought she was going to kiss her. She gulped anxiously but didn’t pull away.

“You’re going to be late if you don’t hurry,” Daphne announced, jumping up from the bed.

Hermione’s heart pounded in her chest. Nerves, she told herself. It was just nerves.

Hermione was deathly afraid Daphne was going to do something embarrassing such as announcing her presence in the Common Room to draw every one’s attention. It was what Lavender and Parvati tended to do after conducting a make-over. Thankfully, Daphne was not so uncouth. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for her other friends.

Harry was in the middle of playing a game of chess with Ron (and most likely losing spectacularly) when he glanced up and caught sight of Hermione on the stairs. His green eyes widened and Hermione fruitlessly prayed he would not say anything. “Wow,” he said in appreciation. Unfortunately, it was said rather loudly, causing everyone to look at what he was admiring. Everyone, that is, but Ron.

“I don’t see what’s so amazing about it, mate,” the red-head said, frowning down at the chess board. “I usually kick your arse.”

“I don’t think he’s talking about the game, Weasley,” Draco snapped. “I’m pretty sure he’s admiring your girlfriend.”

Ron spun around quickly. “Hermione!” he exclaimed, giving her a rather appreciative once over. His next words, though, certainly left something to be desired. “Wow! Who are you and what’ve done with my girlfriend!?”

The guilt Hermione had been feeling since almost kissing Daphne disappeared in a flash of annoyance. She huffed loudly. “Did you expect me to go to my meeting in jeans and trainers?” she asked irritably.

“Well, yeah. Harry did.” Ron seemed genuinely confused. It vexed Hermione even more.

“Professor Snape would’ve mocked him otherwise!” she snapped.

“Granger,” Draco advised softly, “Ignore Weasley. It isn’t worth getting upset over.”

Hermione released a steady stream of calming breath. “You’re right,” she agreed. Like Draco, her words were quiet enough only Malfoy and Daphne would hear. “No need to get upset just as I leave. It will help nothing.”

Harry had moved from his seat at the table and walked across the common to stand at the bottom of the stairs with Draco. He gave Hermione an exaggerated bow. He jokingly clasped her hand and kissed the back of it. “You honor us, my lady,” he intoned, trying not to crack up.

“And _you’ve_ been talking to Salazar too much,” Hermione chided, giggling softly.

“You do know Lucius is an idiot if he’s not impressed with you,” Harry said, all seriousness now.

“I believe you told him that, Potter,” Draco drawled with a roll of his silver eyes.

Hermione gasped sharply. “Harry! You didn’t!?”

Harry chuckled. “Don’t let Malfoy here fool you… I wasn’t the _only_ one telling Lucius not to be a fool.”

Draco’s cheeks pinked.

“Thank you,” Hermione whispered to the Slytherin.

Harry gave a mock pout. “You didn’t thank _me_.”

“And I don’t intend to!” Hermione declared haughtily. They both giggled before Hermione sobered. “I have to go,” she said nervously.

“Don’t worry so much, ‘Mione,” Harry suggested unhelpfully. “You’ll be brilliant. You always are.”

Harry kissed her lightly on the cheek. She was about to go tell Ron goodbye, as he was still snarling by the chessboard. Draco, though, stopped her by asking, “May I escort you to the dungeons, Granger?”

“She doesn’t need your help, Malfoy!” Ron said hotly. “Hermione can walk to the dungeons on her own just fine!”

Draco managed to ignore him completely, but Hermione could tell it took effort. The blonde looked like he’d much rather draw his wand and hex Ron. Hermione suspected he didn’t only because it would upset her. “I’m going to the dungeons myself,” Draco explained to Hermione. “Would you mind if I walked with you?”

“What are planning on doing down in the dungeons, Malfoy? Meeting with some of your slimy Slytherin friends?”

“Ron!” Harry and Hermione both shouted together. Harry looked ready to explode but Hermione completely turned away, ignoring her boyfriend. “I would be delighted, Malfoy,” she said, instead of yelling at Ron. She gave Harry one last nervous smile, and Ron a glare, before preceding Draco through the portal.

Right before they were sucked from the dorms, they heard Harry yelling, “What is your problem, Ron!?”

Hermione huffed when she landed in the hall, still annoyed at Ron. Draco, though, gave an amused snort. “Potter it thicker than I thought,” he drawled, “if he doesn’t realize what’s wrong with the Weasel in there.”

“I’m sure you think you know,” Hermione snapped irritably. In truth, she was curious. While it was common for her and Ron to fight, there was usually _some_ reasoning behind it. Plus, while Ron didn’t _like_ Draco, he’d been, for the most part, civil for Harry’s sake. She had no idea why he’d just become so hostile.

Draco gave her a smug look, as if he could see her curiosity. “It is quite obvious,” he said dryly, “that Weasley was feeling threatened.”

“By you?” the young witch asked, her tone stating clearly that it was a ludicrous statement.

“No, Granger, by you.” Draco didn’t sound like he was being sarcastic.

“By _me_? How?” she asked, incredulously.

Draco grabbed Hermione’s arm, forcing her to stop walking. He tugged her around to face him fully. Malfoy was a step above her on the stairs, making him more than a head taller than her. She had to crane her neck up to look at him. “You are both intelligent and beautiful, Granger,” Draco said earnestly. Hermione blushed; she was used to being called intelligent, but beautiful was not an adjective usually used to describe her. “You could have almost any man you wanted,” Draco continued, “And the only reason I say ‘almost’ is because most Purebloods would have a problem with you being Muggleborn. The Weasleys don’t have an issue with it not because they are any less prejudiced but because they have — had — six sons.”

Hermione nodded slowly. She hated to admit she’d had similar thoughts before. “Why did he have to choose _today_ to get upset by it, though?”

“Because he saw you like… this. You have presented yourself as a witch of prop-”

Draco cut himself off, but Hermione heard the words anyways. “A witch of proper breeding?” she snapped out. “Isn’t that what you were going to say?”

“Yes,” Draco admitted.

Hermione spun on her heel and stalked off. Draco hurried to catch up. “You are dressed like a Pureblood. That’s all I meant.” He almost sounded pleading, as if it were important he _hadn’t_ insulted Hermione. Quite a change from years gone by. It was that, more than anything, that lessened some of Hermione’s hostility.

“I certainly do not believe the two are synonymous,” she declared. “Proper breeding,” she added with a huff. “Being a Pureblood does not automatically indicate _proper breeding_. If it did, you _certainly_ would have wizards like-”

“Me,” Draco said rather sadly.

“Actually, I was going to say Crabbe and Goyle,” Hermione stated, still a bit tetchy. 

Draco, though, chuckled. “All right, Granger,” he laughed, “I’ll give you that one.”

Hermione was still a bit annoyed when they reached the corridor that split off to Professor Snape’s quarters. She was reluctant to let go of her anger, as it kept her nerves at bay. Draco, though, stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to her. It looked, for a moment, like he was going to apologize. “Granger,” he said, a bit hesitantly, “Can I give you a piece of advice?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, growing suspicious. First Daphne helped her and now _Draco Malfoy_ wanted to help her as well. It all seemed too unlikely, and she wondered what the catch was. Then, she remembered Daphne’s impassioned speech about how the cycle of war might finally be breaking. Perhaps, _that_ was their ulterior motive, to stop the insensible violence and the subjugation of Dark Wizards by getting _her_ to accept Lucius Malfoy’s tutelage. If so, it was an agenda she could accept. She disliked injustice of any kind. “All right.”

“Mother will most likely sit with you during most of the appointment. Be polite and friendly to her, Granger. I mean it. Win her over completely.” Draco rolled his eyes. “She seems to have a soft spot for Potter, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Hermione gave a slight smile; Harry never said much about Lucius, though she knew they’d gotten on remarkably well while living at Grimmauld Place. Narcissa, though, he talked about quite a bit. It was obvious he thought a lot of the older witch, and Hermione found herself actually excited at the chance to talk to her more. “All right,” she agreed again; it came out sounding a bit meek.

“Mother promised Severus she would be there to, er, keep a leash on Father.” His lips twisted slightly. Hermione couldn’t help but be surprised that _Snape_ had argued for her. She also couldn’t help but wonder if Draco had just used a direct quote from the conversation. “He will still be rather rude, though, as not even Mother can work miracles. Just try not to let him rile you too badly. Don’t act like a brash Gryffindor. Try to think like a Slytherin. Meet all his derision with cool disdain, and I’m sure you will be fine.

“Right,” Hermione said, giving a terse, understanding nod. Inside, though, she was shaking with nerves. Her knees were trembling, she felt only half-dressed, and she was about to have tea with a Death Eater. Cool disdain did not seem like something she was capable of at the moment. In fact, she rather thought she might sick up on her Mentor’s shoes when she first saw him. How was she supposed to act nonchalant and uncaring!?

Before she even realized it, she was standing in front of Lucius’ door. She didn’t remember how she got there, as she’d been lost in her panicked thoughts. Bloody hell, she didn’t even remember saying goodbye to Draco, though she had a slight recollection of the Slytherin kissing her cheek as Harry always did. Surely _that_ wasn’t right!

Hermione stopped, hand already lifted to knock on the door. She took a quick, deep breath. She pushed everything aside, all her fears and worries, and tried to calm her thoughts. She focused on the rapid _thump-thump_ of her heart pounding and willed it to slow. The mental technique was one she used before exams, to help her prepare. She’d read a book on _Occlumency_ that she’d found for Harry (not that _Harry_ ever read it!) and thought the mental relaxation was the first step. Actually, she wasn’t overly surprised that Harry couldn’t learn it. He lived inside his head half the time. Most likely, a result of his isolated childhood.

Hermione pushed that thought away as well. She took one more cleansing breath… and knocked.

*****************


	12. The Panacea for Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione must face her fears (i.e. Lucius Malfoy) while Harry is trying to come to terms with his feelings about his own Mentor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this point on in the story, I start the trend of using quotes for the chapter titles. So every chapter will now have a quote at the beginning. There is a large chance it is only relevant if you exist in my brain. Also, I believe it was this chapter that the wonderful Jess became my beta. Thank you, love, for all the encouragement, for being my second set of eyes, for being the one to reassure me when I fretted, and gently prodding me when I got off track.
> 
> “ _Tea! The panacea for everything from weariness to a cold to a murder. Love and scandal are the best sweeteners of tea._ ”  
> Henry Fielding ‘ _Love in Several Masques_ ’

** Chapter 12 — The Panacea for Everything **

Hermione stepped into the office with trepidation, which seemed quite ridiculous since it was a standard Hogwarts’ office. As it was in the dungeons, it was decorated in muted greens and grays that harmonized nicely with the stone walls and bare floors. It left the room rather plain, however, so there was nothing of great interest to catch the eye and be the room’s focal point. It looked the same as Professor Snape’s office, though there you didn’t _want_ to look at anything he’d gathered on the various shelves. Here, there was nothing. The shelves were all empty and the only furnishings were the large desk and two chairs; one chair was plush and comfortable, and the other looked stiff, like it was meant to torture students not offer any repose. The office, in truth, could’ve belonged to any Hogwarts Professor. Unfortunately, it didn’t. The teacher it _did_ belong to stood next to the desk, one hip leaning on the piece of furniture, while he stared at Hermione with cold, grey eyes.

All of her instincts told her to flee. They yelled, quite loudly, to get away from Lucius Malfoy, that to remain anywhere near the Death Eater was to invite pain. Ignoring her instincts was not something Hermione often did; when she did, Ron and Harry were always at her side. But _this_ — this wizard — she _needed_ to face on her own.

She tried to break away from the cold, penetrating stare, to look away from the man she feared long enough to control her frantic heartbeat. Unfortunately, she discovered the reason behind the spartan decorations. There was _nothing_ in the room to look at, to take her focus off Lucius. Her eye was continually drawn back to the opulently dressed aristocrat despite herself. “Professor Malfoy,” she managed to say with a polite nod. Surprisingly, her voice was steady. It brought her a small boost of confidence. Maybe she _could_ do this. 

“Ms. Granger,” Lucius drawled, making her name sound like a curse. However, it was actually more polite than Hermione had expected. “We will be having tea in the parlor,” he declared haughtily, gesturing at a door that was previously hidden by a Disillusionment Charm. “Follow me,” he ordered. His velvet cloak snapped as he turned sharply. His boot heels clicked across the stone floors as he strode from the room. Small sounds, but they made Hermione feel as if she would jump from her skin.

The room they entered was warm and inviting. There were large, comfortable couches and chairs, and a softly burning fire in the stone hearth. However, like the office, it was completely impersonal. It was obviously a calculated effect. Hermione realized it not only kept attention focused on Lucius, it also kept anybody from learning about the man who owned the rooms.

“Sit,” Lucius ordered, gesturing at a chair. 

Hermione took a step before hesitating. Propriety said she _should_ be seated first, being both a guest and female, but she didn’t want to appear as if she were _obeying_ Lucius. ‘ _Cool indifference_ ,’ she reminded herself. If Lucius could use proper etiquette to control the situation, then so could she. Perhaps that was what Draco meant by thinking like a Slytherin. She inclined her head in a partial bow. “After you, sir,” she said politely, going so far as to add, “please.”

Lucius’ expression didn’t change as he swept by her and chose a chair. He lowered himself into it regally, flicking his cloak off his knee as he regarded her with an imperious air. It was only an armchair, but he sat in it as if it were a throne. Hermione took her own seat, perching on the edge of the chair and hoping she didn’t look as nervous as she felt.

“My wife will be joining us in a moment,” Lucius commented absently, breaking the tense silence. “She has taken the liberty of preparing a light luncheon in case you are feeling _peckish_.” He sneered the last word slightly, loading it with scorn and innuendo. For some reason, it made Hermione feel flushed and guilty, though she had no idea why. 

“That would be quite refreshing, I’m sure,” she said, though she had no clue what Lucius had been insinuating. It made her feel even more uncertain and fidgety.

The silence stretched out between them, almost palpable with tension and fraught with dislike. Hermione felt like squirming in her chair. Lucius _never_ took his icy gaze from her. It left her bare and vulnerable. She wanted to shift nervously under the scrutiny but did not allow herself to do so. She was reminded of a documentary she’d watched one summer about the signs predatory animals look for in their prey. Lucius, unmistakably, was a predator. His hard stare was searching for any signs of weakness. She refused to show him any. She wasn’t prey.

“Ms. Granger,” he said suddenly, making Hermione jump slightly, “Why do you believe I should take you as an apprentice?”

Hermione gulped nervously. “I am uncertain what you mean, Professor,” she said in a voice that was deceivingly steady. Lucius, she noticed, flinched almost imperceptibly at the title. She decided to give him the ‘respect’ often if he disliked it so much. It might be morally repugnant, but it made her feel better. As if she actually had some control over the situation. “Are you asking why I want to learn from you,” she continued, “or why you should teach me?”

Lucius didn’t get a chance to answer before Narcissa bustled in with a tea tray floating behind her. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said in a quiet and melodious voice. 

Hermione rose from her seat and dipped a small curtsy. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Malfoy,” she greeted the older witch. To her surprise, Narcissa greeted her just as warmly.

“Likewise, Ms. Granger,” she said, taking both of Hermione’s hands and squeezing them reassuringly. She leaned in, as if to kiss the air next to Hermione’s cheek. Instead, she whispered, “Daphne did a lovely job of it. You look stunning.” She pulled back with a small, conspiratorial smile.

It took all of Hermione’s self-control not to gape. _Narcissa_ had set up the make-over this morning. Why was the Malfoy Matriarch helping her? Were her reasons the same as Daphne and Draco? Still, she appreciated the help, regardless of where the idea had originated. “I would be honored if you would call me Hermione,” the Gryffindor offered sincerely.

“The honor would be mine, Hermione, though I insist you return the favor.”

“Thank you, Narcissa.”

With the politesse out of the way, the two women sat. Hermione looked at Lucius for the first time since his wife entered the room. She was shocked at the changes she saw, though they were quite subtle. His entire demeanor had relaxed almost imperceptibly. The hard line of his mouth had softened and he wore an expression that was almost amused, as if he’d seen through Narcissa’s conspiracy and found it humorous. His eyes, though, were the biggest change. They were no longer hard steel but were warm and… fond. She knew, intellectually, she was seeing _love_ in their grey depths, but it seemed far too tender an emotion to attribute to Lucius Malfoy.

‘ _She’s his Grounder_ ,’ Hermione realized, recalling Daphne’s lesson. Narcissa was the one to keep him balanced, to keep him sane. She recognized, quite suddenly, how intimate the relationship between Grounder and Practitioner must be. The trust they needed to have in each other was almost overwhelming.

“Would you care for some tea?” Narcissa asked, pulling Hermione from her thoughts.

“Tea would be lovely. Thank you,” Hermione accepted. Narcissa prepared her cup, making it with heavy cream and no sugar when Hermione informed her how she took it. She prepared cups for herself and her husband before settling herself comfortably.

“I am terribly sorry for interrupting your conversation,” she said into the silence. “Please don’t let me intrude,” she prompted when neither Hermione nor Lucius made a move to resume their discussion.

Lucius eventually cleared his throat slightly. He glanced at Hermione, his gaze losing the softness he’d shown when looking upon his wife. “Ms. Granger was about to inform me why she wanted to study beneath me,” he informed her. He wore a slight smirk, no doubt pleased with the condescension and innuendo he’d loaded into his statement.

“Professor Malfoy,” Hermione began calmly, though her heart was pounding, “I am well aware there is much I could learn from you. You have held positions on the Board of Governors for Hogwarts, as well as St. Mungo’s. You were, for a short time, President of the Guild of Magical Law Practitioners, and you’ve held seats in both the upper and lower courts of the Wizengamot.”

Lucius gave a regal nod, accepting her words as adulation due to him. “I see you’ve done your homework,” he drawled.

“Your family is also in disgrace,” Hermione continued, wondering if she were about to be hexed horribly. “The Malfoys are currently without Ministerial voice. Normally, Draco would take your seat, but his participation in the war led to the stipulation that he cannot hold a chair in either court of the Wizengamot. Therefore, you cannot even garner power through your son. You are politically finished.” Malfoy’s grey eyes were seething, but Hermione didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Which is why _you_ need to teach _me_. A protégé is your only available option if you wish to continue your influence at the Ministry. As an added bonus, Harry’s testimony was never entirely revealed. If you take me as your apprentice, a mere _Mudblood_ ,” her lips twisted in disgust over the word but she didn’t let it stop her, “I believe the general populace will question what they’ve heard of your allegiances,” she finished.

“The ‘ _general populace_ ’ is a group of fools,” Lucius stated coolly. “They will believe what they wish regardless of the evidence before them.”

Hermione forced a small smile. She thought she might sick up. “I couldn’t agree more, Professor.”

“Ah, how lovely,” Narcissa said cheerfully as if she were somehow unaware of the tension in the room. “You two are agreeing already.”

Lucius gave his wife an indulgent look before turning back to Hermione. “Are you even aware of who you are dealing with, Ms. Granger?” he asked, voice quiet but filled with malicious anger.

“I am. As you said, I’ve done my homework. The Malfoy family dates to the time of the Founding and has, for many generations, been instrumental in forming the laws of our world. In many instances, they have been the sole voice of change and revolution, though never if it took power away from Purebloods.” Hermione paused. “ _You_ were considered a prodigy in the socio-political arena. Unfortunately, you were also a Death Eater, which affectively nullified all your previous accomplishments.”

Hermione steeled herself, rather expecting pain. However, Lucius merely sneered. “I was declared-”

“Non-complaisant,” Hermione interrupted. It was the verdict Harry had pushed for. A declaration on non-complaisance suggested the Malfoys had not _willingly_ been guilty of their crimes but had been _forced_ into criminal actions. Hermione paused before saying anything else. She knew she _had_ to say the following but _really_ did not want to share it with _Malfoy_. “I am all too aware of the difference as I, too, have a record of non-complaisance. I am, of course, only telling you this because any contract we _might_ form would be void if I did not disclose that I had a record with the Ministry.”

“For?” Lucius inquired, actually sounding intrigued. His eyes dropped to her glamoured forearm for a brief second before snapping back to her face. Hermione fought the urge to cradle the scarred limb against her chest and met his penetrating gaze.

“Harry managed to keep it quiet, but I was arrested at St. Mungo’s a few months after the war. I was charged with Illegal Obliviation and Improper Memory Retrieval.”

“Ah,” Lucius drawled softly, “ _You_ were the one to curse Rowle and Dolohov.”

“I was,” Hermione said proudly, as if Lucius were actually praising her.

“As I doubt you accompanied a Death Eater to St. Mungo’s, I find myself curious of you else you cursed.”

“My parents,” Hermione said bluntly.

Narcissa gasped, but Lucius gave Hermione a considering look. He recovered quickly, though, and blanked the strangely positive reaction from his face. “What… indiscretion were you hiding, Ms. Granger, that would lead you to such… extreme action?”

“I wasn’t hiding an _indiscretion_ , Professor,” Hermione retorted, angrier than she intended. “I was hiding my very existence.”

Narcissa inhaled another sharp breath. “Why would you-” she broke off, looking at Hermione sadly.

“To protect them. I removed all memories of our world, including myself, so they would no longer be targets.”

“Are you telling me this to _impress_ me, Ms. Granger?” Lucius sneered.

“I find it frightening that it impresses you, sir,” Hermione blurted before she could stop herself. Lucius gave a quiet, chilling laugh. Hermione knew, immediately, she’d lost ground in their negotiations. She tried to regain it quickly, going back on the offensive. “For obvious reasons, Professor Malfoy, it is not inconceivable to believe your family would associate with a powerful half-blood to gain social standing. You need some one, besides Harry, to advocate for you. I doubt anybody would accuse a Malfoy of associating with a M-mudblood just to gain political power or… well, anything, really.”

Narcissa laughed lightly. “Lucius,” she said with a smile, “I like her.”

Lucius bowed his head slightly, a look of resigned acquiescence on his elegant features. “Very well.”

 

****

*************

Sunday afternoon found Harry in front of a stone snake in one of the more convoluted passageways of Hogwarts’ dungeons. He was a bit uncertain about _why_ he was there, but didn’t question it too much. He’d been restless all day and nervous about the next day’s classes. Hermione was still at her meeting with Lucius. Draco had never come back from walking her to the dungeons and Ron was still being a prat. He’d tried playing Exploding Snap with Neville, Wayne and Hannah, but he was so distracted he blew the entire stack of cards on his third turn. So instead, he’d grabbed the Marauder’s Map and gone for a walk. And _somehow_ , he’d ended up in front of the stone serpent.

When Harry left the Fifth House dorms, he truly had no intentions of going to see Snape. He’d simply let his feet carry them were they wanted. His feet, apparently, wanted to transverse around the dungeons. He’d never explored this part of Hogwarts well, always being too afraid to be caught by Snape. For the first time ever, he was using the map to find Snape and going _towards_ the man. According to the map, both Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy were behind this blank stretch of wall. As the serpent ornamentation was the _only_ thing anywhere on the wall, Harry figured it was relevant. Snape’s office entrance, Harry knew far too well, was one corridor over. Perhaps this was the back door, so to speak, to the man’s chambers. Of course, the only reason Harry was giving this any thought at all was that he didn’t know what Snape would do if the Boy-who-Lived suddenly turned up on his doorstep. And did he really _want_ to see Snape when he would have class with the man in the morning?

“ _You could knock, you know_ ,” the snake finally hissed impatiently.

“ _I’m thinking about it_ ,” Harry replied, snapping the words out irritably even though it was highly ineffective to try and _snap_ anything in Parseltongue. 

The statue seemed surprised that Harry spoke to it. Serpentine stone eyes blinked at him and a stone tongue flickered out to taste the air. Harry idly decided to talk to more of the castle’s decorations. Was the Chamber of Secrets the only place hidden by Parseltongue? Maybe he could get Sal to tell him later.

“ _He knows you’re here, Speaker_ ,” the sconce informed him, sounding rather amused. “ _He has spells upon these halls. He sees who tries to disturb him._ ”

“ _Ah, hell_ ,” Harry muttered. He should’ve realized someone as paranoid as Snape would have proximity wards up. He’d most likely set them off some time ago while he stood there contemplating the snake. Even worse, Snape would also know _who_ was at his door and how long Harry had stood there like a loon. Deciding there was nothing to be done about it, he thanked the snake for its patience and the information and tapped the stones with his wand.

Snape looked torn between confused and thunderous when the door opened. Harry immediately began babbling. “ _I hope I’m not disturbing you, Professor. I wanted to talk about classes, but I know Draco’s visiting, so I should probably just go._ ”

Snape just loomed in the doorway, listening to Harry ramble with an amused smirk. Harry had just about decided he was a complete idiot and should just turn and walk away when the man finally spoke. “Could you say that again, Potter… in English this time?”

Harry knew he was turning an unflattering shade of crimson. “Sorry,” he said, looking up into impenetrable black eyes to try and gauge if he was understandable. Snape gave a minute nod. “I’m still not able to control that very well,” Harry mumbled. “Can, uh, can I come in?”

To his surprise, Snape stepped back and gestured him into the room. Harry took in his surroundings quickly. He was in an office, though it wasn’t the same office he’d served detention and ‘Remedial Potions’ in. This one had no dead things in jars, for starters. In fact, it was warm and inviting. Thick rugs covered the stone floor and the walls were covered by overflowing bookshelves. The large desk was a rich mahogany and was covered by various papers and stacks of books. The heavy tomes stacked in the lone chair suggested the room went largely unused except as a Library.

“If you are done snooping, Potter, we are through here,” Snape sneered. He led Harry into a comfortable sitting room. Like the office, most of the walls were covered by bulging bookshelves. The only wall without books was dominated by a large fireplace. Two plush chairs, in deep brown upholstery, sat on either side of it. A matching couch faced them. Small tables, in a pale wood, sat next to all the seats. The largest of the tables, in front of the couch, was set with a fine tea tray. 

“This is nice,” Harry muttered, feeling like an idiot even as the words left his mouth. 

“Did you expect a bat cave, Potter?” his mentor sneered.

“No,” Harry answered honestly. “Just something less… inviting,” he said, hoping he wasn’t being insulting.

“I’m glad my home meets with your approval,” Snape said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “We will be spending most of your evening lessons in here. You may use the entrance you just did, though I’m quite frankly surprised you found it as it is largely unused.” He gave Harry a questioning glance. Harry responded with a cheeky grin. Snape sneered. “Or you can use the traditional entrance through my main office. I’m sure you remember where _that_ is, Potter.”

Harry flinched. He’d been trying, rather unsuccessfully, not to think about the disastrous Occlumency lessons. “Sort of hard to forget, sir,” he said, cringing. 

Oddly enough, Snape didn’t seem to have a rejoinder.

Draco emerged from one of the side rooms (either a lab or a loo, but Harry had no plans of finding out anytime soon.) He looked startled to see Harry but quickly masked it with a smirk. “Hiding from the Weasel?” he sneered. “Is he still being a prat?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Sal decided to step in. They were _both_ yelling. Sort of amusing, especially since Sal drops into Parseltongue when he’s irritated. Merlin, he uses some creative insults when he forgets someone can understand him.”

Draco gave an amused snort. “Then what are you doing down here? That sounds like entertainment to me!”

Harry shrugged. “Between Ron’s yelling and the Exploding Snap tournament, it was _way_ too loud. I had to get out before I hexed somebody.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry wanted to draw them back. His blood brother was giving him an overly concerned look. He frowned and quickly changed the subject. “I’ve ordered my textbooks, but they haven’t arrived yet. I was hoping to borrow Professor Snape’s  Wandless Weaving for Beginner Witches and Wizards so I could read the chapters we’ll be covering next week.”

At first, Snape looked like he was going to refuse. Then, he merely looked resigned. “It is not to leave my chambers, Potter. You may sit over there and be quiet,” he added, pointing to one of the armchairs by the fireplace. Harry obediently took his seat, marveling that the chair was as comfortable as it looked, while Snape retrieved the textbook. When Harry opened it to the first page, he understood why Snape was hesitant to lend it to him. A familiar slanted scrawl decorated the margins. Many of them seemed recent; apparently, Snape never grew out of the habit of ‘correcting’ his textbooks. Even more intrigued now, Harry settled in to read, ignoring the two Slytherins.

Snape’s notes were as fascinating to Harry as they’d always been. Under the prologue heading of ‘ _Wandless Magic: Miracle or Myth_?’ Snape had scribbled, ‘ _Misnomer, you twit_.’

By the third paragraph, Harry agreed with Snape’s assessment of the author’s inflated argument rather easily. True wandless magic didn’t exist. A wizard _always_ focused their magic through their wand. A “wandless” spell was simply one in which the traditional swish and flick was missing. However, the wand was still _somewhere_ on the wizard’s person. According to the author, “ _Accio_ Wand” was the exception. Snape had scrawled, ‘ _Accio Wand still focuses through the instrument being summoned. There is no exception. The caster’s magic must always be augmented by their wand._’

Harry grinned, wondering how being the owner of _two_ powerful wands would affect him. He was actually looking forward to discussing it with Snape. Now, though, did not seem to be the time. Snape and Draco were engrossed in their own conversation about Potions.

He listened to Snape and his godson for a moment, slightly awed at seeing the surly professor so relaxed and comfortable in another’s presence. Their conversation was far beyond Harry’s understanding of potions, but it was still fascinating to listen to. While Snape did, occasionally, lecture Draco on the finer nuances of ingredient preparation or some such rot, he was not condescending. He spoke to his godson almost as he would an equal. Perhaps, Harry realized, this was as close as he could get to one. He’d known since reading the Half-Blood Prince’s book that the man was a genius, and he was now seeing such a brilliant mind at work.

Harry would never understand Potions, not like they did. But Defense, by necessity, had always been his forte. Harry wondered if he could finally earn Snape’s respect in at least one subject. Determined now, he engrossed himself back into his reading, paying more attention to Snape’s scribbles than the author’s superfluously detailed text. He became so focused he failed to even notice Draco leaving. He was a bit startled to look up from the book to find himself alone with his professor. Snape was sitting, rather casually, in the chair across from him. One ankle was crossed over his other knee and a book was resting on his lap. He wasn’t reading, though. He was staring intently at Harry.

“Professor?” Harry questioned lightly. It seemed to jolt Snape back to awareness.

“Would you be willing to continue our… discussion of the other night?” the older man said without preamble.

Harry’s mind immediately went somewhere it probably shouldn’t. He’d enjoyed their discussion, but later he’d been somewhat surprised remembering the flirting. Flirting… hell, it had bypassed basic flirting and innuendo. Harry’d all but told Snape he was hard. He _still_ couldn’t figure out what had come over him. He tried not to think about it. While awake, at least. He’d had more than one interesting dream since that night of being on his knees and calling Snape ‘Master.’

“Potter?” Snape said quietly.

“Gods,” Harry muttered under his breath. He’d been sitting there is a glazed expression, fantasizing about _Snape_ for who knew how long. While Snape watched him. He flushed darkly. “Uh… which discussion… would that be, sir?” The words came out sounding rather strangled.

Snape looked at him like he’d grown another head. “I believe you used the term ‘tit for tat,’ Potter.”

“Oh!” Harry said, blushing in embarrassment now instead of… well, a different sort of embarrassment. “If you have a question for me, sir, you can just ask.”

“Hmm,” his professor murmured. He caressed his lower lip with his thumb as he thought. Harry stared at the digit, utterly entranced by the subtly sensual movement. Part of him wanted to curse Hermione for telling him so much about Wizarding Sexuality. It _had_ to be her lecture on the Greco-Roman relations between apprentice and master that had him thinking about _Snape_ in such a way.

“Why was Draco concerned when he learned your reasoning for coming here this afternoon?”

Harry tore his eyes away from Snape’s mouth. “Was he? I didn’t notice,” Harry fibbed, scowling at the floor.

“My godson is not the most subtle of Slytherins. His reaction was quite apparent.”

“Sometimes… I don’t handle loud noises well, sir. Malfoy knows — we were at Grimmauld and — couldn’t you ask something else?” Harry pleaded helplessly. Snape, though, had never been merciful. He shook his head. Harry sighed heavily. “Right after the war, I wasn’t in very good shape,” he admitted. “If it had been a rough night, if I hadn’t gotten much sleep… I didn’t react to stress very well. My reactions, especially to loud noises, were… well, unpredictable.”

“Such as?”

“Do you really need to know, sir?”

“I do,” Snape said, relentless.

“Malfoy startled me one time… and I hexed him. It was reflexive or something. Another time, somebody disturbed Mrs. Black’s portrait. She started screaming. I- I hid in a cupboard,” he admitted, voice small and ashamed. “Nobody could find me for hours. Narcissa had the painting moved to Malfoy Manor after that.” He risked a glance at his mentor, expecting to see disgust or condemnation. Instead, Snape’s stern features and dark eyes were filled with sympathy and understanding.

“It is not uncommon, Potter, for one who had experienced trauma, such as yourself, to find themselves… out of sorts. It is not a weakness and it is nothing to be ashamed of. However, I needed to know in order to ascertain if you would be able to handle classes as the students are somewhat rowdy.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Professor. I’m loads better than I was. Draco knows I’m just having a hard time; we all are. Being back here is… it’s difficult. We all have memories we’d rather not deal with.” Harry hesitated before adding, “Is it my turn to ask a question?”

“I believe that is the way the game progressed, yes.”

“Why are you being so nice?” Harry blurted.

“I am not _nice_ ,” Snape said with a sneer. It seemed an automatic response; Snape said it by rote without even thinking about it.

“All right, sir,” Harry said with the hint of a grin. “You aren’t nice. Got it. I’ll need to consult my thesaurus to find the right word for it, then.”

Snape snorted, clearly amused despite himself.

“I am curious, sir, on why you aren’t…” Harry trailed off, unable to think of a better way of saying ‘being an utter berk.’ Snape, thankfully, spoke into the pause.

“Mocking you? Belittling you? Being as I used to be?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“There are several reasons, Potter. I am sure it would come as no surprise to you, of all people, that I endeavor to atone for my mistakes.”

Harry nodded, fighting to keep shock off his face. Snape had just nearly said that the way he treated Harry had been a mistake. Harry had, truthfully, never expected him to admit that. Well, he hadn’t _admitted_ it, not really. He’d just implied it strongly. However, it would be un-Snape-like for the man to openly admit to being wrong. “Thank you, sir,” Harry mumbled.

“I have a somewhat related question, Potter. I am mildly surprised at the respect you’ve shown me as late. I believe you have called me ‘Professor’ or ‘sir’ more in the past week than during the entirety of the six years I was your teacher.”

Harry chuckled. “You do realize there actually _wasn’t_ a question anywhere in that comment, don’t you?” He laughed harder when Snape glared at him. “All right,” he said, relenting. “You’re asking why, right?” 

Snape merely nodded, still glaring at him.

Harry ran his hands through his hair, making it stand on end. He had no idea how to tell Snape what he wanted to, and eventually decided to go for broke and be honest. “My uncle was… he wasn’t a nice man. He definitely wasn’t a _good_ man. He treated me horribly; he always called me either ‘boy’ or ‘freak.’ I actually didn’t know my name was _Harry_ until I started primary school.” Harry shook his head, trying to regather his thoughts and not get side-tracked. “Despite that, I was still supposed to be respectful to him.” Harry noticed Snape cringe and wondered if the older man was thinking of his own childhood or of his previous treatment of Harry. “I learned at a fairly young age,” he continued, “that platitudes could be given, but true respect needed to be earned.”

“You are suggesting I earned your respect?”

“I’m more than _suggesting_ it, Snape. I’m flat out saying it.” Harry paused before taking a deep breath and admitting, “I think your memories affected me more than you realize.”

“Would you care to elaborate, Potter?” Snape asked with a raised eyebrow.

“As long as I’ve been a wizard — as long as I’ve _known_ I was a wizard,” Harry corrected with an eye roll, “I had expectations placed on me. I was supposed to be everyone’s Savior. You, though, never expected it of me. I resented the pressure everyone — even my friends — put on me, and hated you for not understanding what I was going through. Then I saw your memories. I realized you _did_ understand. You gave _everything_ to the war effort, for a lot longer than I did. How could I not admire you after that? Respect you?” Harry looked away, uncomfortable with the admission. “Besides,” he said, forcing a smile, “you haven’t killed me or even yelled at me the few times I just called you ‘Snape,’ so I figure it evens out.”

“It is not entirely impossible, Potter, that the respect is mutual,” Snape murmured. “You were far too young for the burdens placed upon you. I did not realize how much Albus expected of you until the end. I regret…” Snape trailed off, and Harry was unsurprised. He knew, now, that Snape’s regrets were many and varied. He glanced up from the floor, looking at his professor. There was a sadness etched in the lines of Snape’s face that, in retrospect, was not uncommon. They’d both suffered more than any wizard should have to in one lifetime. In that, at least, they were equals. It was a strangely intimate moment, beyond even their brief flirtations of before. Which, of course, meant Harry needed to disrupt the interlude.

“What can I expect from classes next week?” he asked abruptly, uncaring of the non-sequitur. Snape seemed rather relived by it as well.

“First Years, as you know, study a rudimentary synopsis of various aspects of Defense,” Snape said almost eagerly, as if he needed to fill the silence lest they fall back into their intense connection. “I fear you will find those classes quite dull; I suggest you bring your books to study since there will be little for you to do.”

“All right,” Harry agreed quickly, comfortable again now that they were on more mundane subjects.

“Second Year begins discussion of dueling, mainly learning simple jinxes and counter curses. They will be discussed more in depth with the Fourth and Fifth Year students, of course. You will assist me heavily with both those classes.”

“By dueling with you,” Harry said, with more than a bit of apprehension.

“And by ensuring none of the students are injured during their own practices. Unless your speech at the Welcoming Feast worked miracles, there is quite a bit of tension between the Gryffindors and Slytherins that chose to return.”

Harry nodded his understanding. There was, again, a sadness about Snape when he mentioned his Slytherins. Harry wondered how difficult it had been to stand aside and let so many of them make the same mistake he’d done in his youth. Assuming, of course, that Snape had. Slytherins, after all, were subtle and sneaky. There were a thousand ways Snape could’ve influenced them against Voldemort without breaking his cover as a spy. Harry also, somehow, knew that Snape still didn’t believe he’d done enough. Just as Harry considered every death to be a personal failure, he expected Snape saw those lost to the Dark as the same.

“Third Years cover Creatures, right?” he asked, hoping to disguise his rambling thoughts.

“Yes, though I expect my lecture will vary wildly from Lupin’s,” Snape managed, just barely, not to sneer Remus’ name.

“You might be surprised,” Harry said flippantly, “For some one who _was_ a Dark Creature, Remus was rather derogatory toward them.”

“I am not surprised in the least. Therein, I believe, lies the difference. I admire a great many of the creatures we will be studying.”

“Except werewolves.” The words were out of his mouth before Harry could stop them.

Snape, though, shocked him by not yelling. His deep voice was calm when he spoke. “My disdain for Lupin had little to do with him being a werewolf and more to do with his absurd placidity in the face of any and all situations.”

Harry deciphered the comment quickly. Personally, he disagreed. He’d found Remus’ calm demeanor rather soothing. However, he knew enough about Snape’s past to know why it bothered the man. Remus never stood up to the other Marauders, even going so far as to forgive Sirius for using him in an attempt to _kill_ Snape. If Remus had, just once, stood up to them, Harry imagined he and Snape could have been decent friends. Still, though, it left one question unanswered for him. “If that isn’t what bothered you… why did you get him fired?”

“My admiration for Dark Creatures does not mean they are suitable around children. Vampires, for example, have such magnificent regenerative power that a mere few drops of their blood can create a healing potion only surpassed by Phoenix Tears. They do not, however, belong at a school.”

“I met one here once. I think his name was Sanguini. He was at one of Slughorn’s parties.”

“You have encountered more Dark Creatures than your average student. I will, of course, make use of such encounters during class by asking you to share your experiences.”

“Sure,” Harry agreed with nonchalant shrug. “What about during your NEWT classes? What do you expect of me for them?”

“Much of the same. Though you will, on occasion, duel directly with the students. Once I have deemed it safe for you to do so, of course.”

“I wouldn’t worry about the Elder Wand so much. Dumbledore used it for over fifty year without ever passing it to a new owner and, according to his portrait, he _was_ disarmed a couple of times.”

“I am more concerned with your safety, Potter. The older students were more involved with the war and I want to be certain none of them hold any sort of grudge before I let them cast at you.”

“Oh,” Harry said sheepishly. It gave him an oddly warm feeling to know Snape was still trying to protect him. “Thank you, sir.”

“Think nothing of it, Potter. It would be remiss of me to allow my apprentice to be killed, is all.”

“Of course,” Harry replied, fighting a grin.

“I am going to hope, rather fervently, that you have progressed in your non-verbal casting,” Snape commented with a sneer. Harry wondered if he felt the need to be insulting since he’d just been rather thoughtful a moment before.

Harry, though, took no offense. Instead, he smiled. “Still not as good as you, sir, but yeah. I’m loads better now. Actually, I had a question about wandless casting I wanted to ask you.”

Harry explained the innate abilities he seemed to have developed. Snape discussed the various reasons he might’ve noticed a change in his magic. They decided they would test his abilities with the Elder Wand during Harry’s evening sessions. They couldn’t start immediately, as Harry didn’t carry the Hallows on him. So, they spent most of the afternoon debating theory. Lunch came and went. Only when it was time for dinner did Harry realize how long he’d been in the dungeons. He knew his friends would demand an explanation of where he’d been; he’d left without telling them, after all. Ron, he knew, would probably yell. Frankly, though, Harry didn’t care. It had been, all in all, a relaxing and enjoyable afternoon.

****

*************

Draco was waiting in the hallway when Hermione emerged from his parent’s rooms. At first, he said nothing, so neither did she. Eventually, though, the Malfoy Heir became impatient. “How did it go?” he blurted, sounding anxious for some reason.

“I’m uncertain. I insulted your father quite a bit, impressed him with my criminal record, told him he terrified me, insulted him some more… then you mother said she liked me and the meeting ended,” Hermione said in a confused rush.

“It went good, then.”

“Draco!” Hermione exclaimed, “How is that _good_!?”

“If Mother says she likes you, Father will accept it.”

“I called him a disgraced bigot! I _lectured_ him the entire time!”

Draco chuckled. “Which explains why Mother liked you.” He glanced at Hermione, a small grin softening his pointy features. “Relax, Granger. There is no way Father would take you on as an apprentice if you _hadn’t_ been rude to him. He would’ve seen it as a weakness in character.”

Hermione stopped walking and gave her classmate an incredulous stare. “You do realize your family is mental, right?”

Draco merely nodded, proud.

****

*************

Severus paced his chambers after Potter left. The brat was getting to him, affecting him poorly. He snorted to himself. Potter had _always_ affected him poorly. Him _and_ his blasted Father! This was no different, he told himself repeatedly. He also ignored the small voice that said he was lying.

He blamed Lucius for the entirely inappropriate thoughts he kept having in regards to his student. The blonde Slytherin had been the first to suggest he bed the boy, and now he was plagued by thoughts of what Potter would look like if his green eyes were flashing with passion that _wasn’t_ anger. He was beginning to think he preferred being haunted by those eyes when they were condemning him instead of enticing him.

Unfortunately, the boy was _far_ too tempting. Small and lithe, almost to the point of appearing fragile. But filled with such _power_. Severus had always been attracted to strong wizards even if it had, more than once, been his downfall. Surprisingly, though, Potter didn’t seem to be the sort to exploit such a weakness. If he even recognized it as such. Harry Potter seemed remarkably innocent for one who’d been dealt such fame and celebrity. It was his blushes, Severus decided. The slight pink flush that would creep across the boy’s porcelain skin whenever he realized how open he was with his Mentor and how intimately they were connected to each other.

Severus cursed Lucius Malfoy again for good measure. Such thoughts were an abomination. He would admit, at least in the privacy of his own thoughts, that he was drawn to the brat. However, it wasn’t _just_ his power that Severus found so enthralling. Potter, surprisingly, showed a remarkable amount of maturity and intelligence during their conversations. Even worse, were the warm nature and sweet optimism that clung to the boy despite the hardships he’d suffered. Severus knew his most recent obsession would do nothing but sully such innocence. No, he decided as he readied for bed, he would not allow himself to become that sort of monster. Potter deserved far better than the likes of his greasy old Potions Master lusting after him.

His dreams were tormented by emotion filled green eyes. This time, it wasn’t a nightmare. However, he still felt uneasy as he readied for the day, knowing he would have to face the boy who’d been the object of his deepest regrets and now his most stirring fantasies.

*****************


	13. Gentlemanly Vices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry begins classes and learns a bit more about his Mentor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> _That dueling's a gentlemanly vice I hold;_  
>  and wish that it had been my lot  
> To live my life out in some favored spot --  
> Some country where it is considered nice  
> To split a rival like a fish, or slice  
> A husband like a spud, or with a shot  
> Bring down a debtor doubled in a knot  
> And ready to be put upon the ice.  
> Some miscreants there are, whom I do long  
> To shoot, to stab, or some such way reclaim  
> The scurvy rogues to better lives and manners,  
> I seem to see them now --a mighty throng.  
> It looks as if to challenge _me_ they came,  
> Jauntily marching with brass bands and banners!  
> —“Xamba Q. Dar.”  
> “The Devil’s Dictionary” by Ambrose Bierce

** Chapter 13 — Gentlemanly Vices **

Harry was quite nervous when he entered the classroom Monday morning. The Defense classroom was like he expected it to be. Row upon row of student desks sat before a raised dueling platform. Snape’s desk sat on the far side of the platform, near the wall. There was a smaller desk, ostensibly for Harry, pushed off to one side and slightly behind it. The walls were still decorated with a myriad of framed drawings depicting grotesque scenes.

The first class of the week was a Third Year single block. There was little for Harry to do since Snape was lecturing. Harry sat at his desk reading his text books. Well, he was _supposed_ to be reading. Instead, he found himself listening to the lecture. Snape was discussing Dark Creatures which were all now considered extinct. While the subject _was_ interesting, it was Snape’s voice that captivated Harry. The rich tones rose and dipped as he spoke. He used long, drawn out sentences and short, terse fragments. Either way, the _passion_ Snape felt for his subject was almost tangible. His lectures in Potions had been the same way, Harry realized. He wondered how he’d managed to ignore it before now.

“Potter!” Snape barked suddenly, quickly reminding Harry _exactly_ why he’d hated his classes all these years. “I’m glad you find my lecture so enthralling,” he said sarcastically as Harry blinked his eyes into focus.

“Sorry, sir.” The students tittered with laughter. Harry grimaced. His first class just _had_ to have Slytherins in it, didn’t it?

“Tell us about the Basilisk you faced,” Snape ordered. 

“Um… what do you want to know?”

Snape gave an exasperated sigh. “You are aware, aren’t you Mr. Potter, that you are the only known wizard to have contact with one in the last three hundred years?”

“I wasn’t at the time, sir. I found out later.” Later being, of course, once Hermione was no longer petrified. She hadn’t even been released from the Infirmary yet when she lit into him.

“Tell the class about the creature, Potter.”

“Ah… it was big,” Harry said stupidly.

Snape’s dark eyes rolled. “Yes. Thank you for such an enlightening commentary, Mr. Potter. Would you kindly expound upon your statement?”

“It was _really_ big,” Harry reiterated. “About… sixty feet, I guess. I don’t know; I didn’t get too good an impression before I closed my eyes.”

Snape was openly sneering. “Can you expound upon something other than its _size_?”

Harry’s face scrunched up as he remembered the horrors of the Chamber of Secrets. He remembered being terrified, thinking he’d be killed and then Ginny would die as well. He remembered the piercing pain as the fang stabbed through his arm and the fiery burn of the venom spreading through his body. The cold, aching numbness of realizing he was going to die. None of that, he knew, were things these students needed to know. They were far too young for such a graphic accounting. He realized, a bit startled, that they were a year older than he was when he faced the creature. Finally, though, his thoughts latched onto something he _could_ share. “It could hunt by scent,” he said carefully.

Snape gave him a small nod of approval. “As a Basilisk’s stare is its most formidable weapon, the first recourse in defending against such a creature is destroying its eyes. However, it can still hunt by scenting and tasting the air.” Snape clasped his hands behind his back as he paced back and forth across the dueling platform. “Basilisk hide is known for being resistant to magic, and its hide is thick enough to be almost impenetrable by blade. Coupled with its tremendous speed and its deadly stare, Basilisks were considered one of the fiercest creatures in the Wizarding World.”

“Couldn’t be too tough if _Potter_ defeated one,” a Slytherin boy grumbled quietly. Snape, though, had hearing like a bat.

“Ten points from Slytherin, Mr. Jansen,” he snapped, “for disrespecting my apprentice.” All the Slytherins, and Harry, gaped at their professor. Snape _never_ took points from Slytherin. “Mr. Potter, do you find my assessment of the creature exaggerated?” he asked shrewdly.

“Not at all, sir.”

Snape nodded tersely before turning back to the class. “There are countless records of encounters with Basilisks, and they vary wildly in regards to the creature’s habits and chosen environment. In fact, there is only one thing they tend to agree upon: how to defeat the creature. Would you care to enlighten us, Mr. Potter?”

“You wait until it is about to strike and then stab it through the roof of the mouth,” Harry said dryly. “Unfortunately, there’s a good chance it will bite you anyway.”

“Mr. Potter is correct. There are numerous accounts of wizards who defeated a Basilisk only to succumb to its poison afterwards. The final bite is nearly impossible to avoid.”

“How did you avoid it?” a small Ravenclaw asked Harry. She cringed upon realizing she’d blurted a question without raising her hand.

“I didn’t,” Harry answered quickly, preventing Snape from taking points for the indiscretion. 

“The Basilisk’s fang pierced Mr. Potter’s arm,” Snape informed the class. “And lest you start believing the rumors of the Chosen One’s immortality, Mr. Potter only survived because he had the assistance of a Phoenix.”

Despite the belittling tone, Harry was glad Snape had fielded the question. He gave Harry an oddly apologetic glance before continuing without the lecture. “The Basilisk has been believed extinct since the time of the Founders. However, one seems to turn up every couple of hundred years. It is, without fail, killed. Why?” Several students raised their hands, though Harry was bewildered about the answer.

“Because it’s a Dark Creature,” the first girl called upon answered. She received a scathing look.

“Try not to give the most obvious answer, Ms. Chetfield. It is indubitably incorrect.” Snape turned and called on the Slytherin boy from earlier. “Mr. Jansen?”

“Because it kills people beyond what it needs to for its own survival.”

“So do bears,” Harry retorted sarcastically, “and they aren’t annihilated for it.”

Snape turned and flashed Harry a sneer. It was, Harry suspected, supposed to be chastising. However, Harry thought it looked amused. 

“Incorrect, Mr. Jansen. Mr. Thompson, can you enlighten the class?” Snape said, calling on a Ravenclaw whose eagerly raised hand reminded Harry of Hermione. Thompson, though, was also incorrect.

“I want two feet, due next week, on why the creatures we discussed today were so ruthlessly hunted to extinction.” The students let out a disappointed groan. “Class dismissed,” Snape declared.

Harry watched the students gather their belongings and scatter from the classroom. A small frown furrowed his brow, wrinkling the faded lightning bolt scar. Snape must’ve noticed the look because as soon as the last student departed, he growled, “Don’t strain yourself trying to think, Potter.”

“I’m just curious. Besides, if I’m supposed to help the students with their essays, I should probably know the correct answer.”

“Resources, Potter. Every one of the Dark Creatures hunted to extinction provided a valuable commodity that could not be obtained without the creature’s death. In the case of the Basilisk, for instance, its skin was used in protective armor, its blood is a natural antivenin, and the venom — once neutralized by powdered Bezoar — is a powerful paralytic.”

“Oh,” Harry said dumbly, his mind elsewhere. All the magnificent creatures Snape had spoken of, gone forever from their world, because they were useful _ingredients_. It seemed such a horrible loss. Then, another thought struck him. “The Basilisk’s corpse is still in the Chamber.”

Snape’s smirk widened and his dark eyes flashed with anticipation. “I know,” he said, almost purring the words.

The next class was Second Years, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Second Year, apparently, was when the students were supposed to begin learning Defensive spells. Unfortunately, Harry had been stuck with Lockhart that year so all his lessons had centered around the professor instead of the skills they should’ve been learning. Harry wondered if that was the true reasoning behind the ill-fated and short lived Dueling Club. As he wandered the room, helping the students with wand grip and the pronunciation of _Expelliarmus_ , he decided he was right. The Dueling Club was Dumbledore’s attempt to teach the students in spite of the incompetent DADA professor. Had Dumbledore informed Snape of the plan? Was that why the Potions Master had participated in it?

“Is it true you used this spell to defeat You-Know-Who?” one nervous Hufflepuff asked. She seemed rather anxious about attacking her classmate. 

Harry didn’t feel like explaining wand control and rebounding magic to such a young student so he simply shrugged noncommittally. “ _Expelliarmus_ isn’t an attack spell,” he said, trying to reassure the girl. “You won’t usually even hurt anybody with it, much less kill them.”

“Your dumb luck notwithstanding, Potter,” Snape murmured as he walked by. For some reason, it made Harry grin.

The afternoon classes proceeded in much the same way, though Harry now knew he would be discussing the Basilisk. The Third Year class of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs asked numerous questions, wanting all the gory details. During the Second Year lesson, one boisterous Gryffindor mispronounced _Expelliarmus_ so badly his poor partner ended up with extra limbs. The Slytherins had all jeered at the student as Harry escorted his partner to the Infirmary. For once, Harry didn’t blame them. The offending Gryffindor showed very little remorse over hexing his friend. In fact, the injury got more attention from Draco then it did the perpetrator. Malfoy looked like he was going to swoon when Harry showed up with a student who had an arm growing out of his sternum.

Harry thumped his head down onto his desk when the last student finally trooped out the door. He heard Snape snort. He glanced up and gave a reckless grin. “Will you gloat, sir, if I say I understand now why you can’t stand Gryffindors?” Snape, though, didn’t relish the admission as he was far too busy laughing at Harry.

****

*************

Though he was exhausted, Harry didn’t sleep well Monday night. He was nervous about his classes the next day. Sixth Years had a double block on Tuesday mornings, and he had a reoccurring nightmare of his first Defense class with Snape. He was terrified Snape was going to call on him for demonstration and then knock him on his arse again. Fortunately, his fears went unrealized during the actual class. Snape didn’t use Harry for any of the demonstrations, so he mainly just watched as Snape knocked other students on their arses.

It was odd, watching Snape teach the same lessons he’d once taught Harry. Snape was completely different with this class. Granted, he was still an insulting, sarcastic bastard, but he was more relaxed and he helped the students quite a bit instead of just screaming at them. Harry felt a moment of regret that _this_ Snape had never been his teacher.

Once the long class period was over, Harry and Snape had a short break before the next session. Hesitantly, Harry turned to his mentor. “Sir?” he said, “Can I ask you a question?”

“I believe you just did, Potter, so I would say yes, you are capable.”

Harry rolled his eyes. He should have seen that one coming. “I’m curious about something, Professor, but you might consider it personal.” Or insulting, but Harry left that part unsaid.

“You may ask, but I do not promise you an answer.”

Harry paused, trying to figure out the least offensive way to ask Snape why he’d been such a horrible teacher before. “You, ah, you’re different in class than you used to be,” Harry began. “You actually seem to _enjoy_ teaching, and you’re almost n-”

“I’m not nice,” Snape snarled.

“— not a complete git,” Harry finished instead. He smirked slightly at Snape’s startled expression and mentally gave himself a point. “I guess I was just wondering why. I mean, I know you were under a lot of stress what with the war and all. Is that all it was? Stress?”

Snape hesitated before sitting down his quill. He turned his chair so he faced Harry. “I _loathed_ teaching Potions,” he admitted, much to Harry’s shock.

“But you love Potions!” Harry exclaimed. Snape arched a brow. Harry flushed slightly. “I mean, you seemed to,” he said quickly. “I saw you brewing. Once. I had detention and you were working on R-remus’ wolfsbane.” Harry choked slightly on Remus’ name, as he often did when mentioning the dead. However, he didn’t let it stop him. He shoved the grief aside and continued. “I remember thinking you looked content, even happy, when you were brewing on your own.”

“I am quite certain I was merely wondering the effects of throwing you into the cauldron along with the aconite.”

Harry snorted, amused not only by the comment but by the sparkle in his Professor’s dark eyes. Snape looked almost wistful, like he truly was wondering how Harry would have altered the properties of the potion. Snape shook himself slightly, as though shedding the dream like a dog would shed water. “However,” he said after a moment, “you are correct. I _do_ enjoy creating potions. Teaching them was an entirely different matter.”

Harry frowned. He couldn’t imagine teaching a subject he didn’t love. He’d always assumed Snape simply hated teaching. He never would’ve thought the subject was the cause. “Why?” he asked curiously, hoping he wasn’t out of bounds.

“You love flying,” Snape said instead of answering. “Isn’t that correct?”

“Yes,” Harry answered simply.

“Would you want to teach flying to children every day for fifteen years? Knowing not even half of them would have the aptitude for it? That their ineptitude would get themselves, or others, hurt? Would you _enjoy_ that, Potter?”

No, Harry was quite sure he wouldn’t. Yet another way he’d misread Snape over the years. He’d always thought the Potions Master was sadistically amused by the accidents in class. “I understand,” Harry said quietly. “But why-” he broke off and looked away, chewing his lip nervously.

“Why was I still such a bastard during your Sixth Year?” Snape asked sardonically, having correctly read the question from Harry’s demeanor. Harry nodded, still looking at the scarred wood of his desk. “Unfortunately, Potter, you have the Headmaster to thank for my ill treatment of you that year.” Harry’s head shot up and Snape must’ve seen the hurt in his eyes because he sighed heavily. “Albus knew you excelled in Defense,” he explained gently. “He was worried your talent for the subject would… soften my treatment of you. You needed to hate me as much, if not more, than you always had. That way my ‘ _betrayal_ ’ was less personal. He said it would be… unfair to you otherwise.”

While Harry _did_ understand Dumbledore’s reasoning, he was still slightly bitter. It was yet another way he’d manipulated them. “And the Occlumency lessons?” he asked recklessly. He simply needed to hear all of it, once and for all. He had begun to suspect Dumbledore had _intended_ those lessons to be disastrous as a method of opening Harry’s mind to Voldemort. After all, Harry had learned to use the link to spy on Voldemort during the final year of the war. Harry never would’ve known he was searching for the Elder Wand without it.

To his surprise, something akin to regret flashed across Snape’s face, though he turned away quickly. “I was… angry. About the lessons. I may have vented my irritation on you and treated you too harshly because of it. It was… irrational.”

“May have?” Harry said, a bit incredulously.

“Potter,” Snape said, voice tired and strained, “You needed Occlumency lessons because Albus _knew_ the Dark Lord was invading your mind. He refused to teach you himself because he already suspected you were a Horcrux and he didn’t want you to learn your fate prematurely. So instead, he forced me, his _spy_ , to teach you. The Dark Lord was able to access your mind during _any_ heightened emotion, but most especially anger. I assume you were none too happy to learn I was to give you private lessons; I was Called the very night you were told.”

“Oh… gods,” Harry whispered. He’d witnessed enough Death Eater meetings in his nightmares to know the torture that must have resulted. “Gods,” he whispered again. “I’m so sorry, Professor, I… didn’t know.”

“Do not concern yourself with guilt, Potter. You weren’t supposed to know.”

“Still-”

“Potter,” Snape said sharply, “I do not wish to still be discussing this when the students arrive. Let…it…go,” he ordered. “The class will be trying enough without you playing the part of martyr.”

Harry dropped the subject immediately, though he still felt the heavy weight of guilt on his shoulders. “All right,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “This is the Gryffindor/Slytherin class you warned me about, isn’t it?”

“Yes, unfortunately. I haven’t witnessed such a… competitive group since you and my godson began classes.”

Harry snorted. _Competitive_. Well, that was one word for it, certainly, though probably not the most accurate one. He glanced down at the stack of syllabi he kept on his desk, unable to remember what the class would be working on. He groaned when he saw ‘ _Advanced Dueling Techniques: Formal vs. Informal Dueling Practices_ ’ written on the sheet. “If they are as bad as Malfoy and I were… how do you plan on keeping them from killing each other?”

“With your aid,” Snape smirked. “Though that will be a problem for another day. This class will mainly be a demonstration with lecture mixed in.”

“Demonstration,” Harry said blandly. “The two of us are going to duel, aren’t we?” He couldn’t help but think of the last time he’d dueled Snape and how incredibly one-sided it had been.

Snape, it seemed, was remembering the same thing. “I expect you to impress me this time, Mr. Potter,” he said.

“How!?” Harry exclaimed. He didn’t add that Snape had _never_ been impressed by him.

“Surprise me,” the man said dryly. He turned back around as the first student entered the classroom which meant he failed to notice the small grin Harry wore at the words. If he’d seen it, he might have been concerned.

The first few minutes of class were spent lecturing on Ministry approved dueling terms. Harry tuned it out as he flipped through his Seventh Year textbook. It looked like it would be an interesting class, and part of Harry wished he’d had a Seventh Year. For that class, if nothing else. Then he realized he would, in a way, still be taking the class, though he wouldn’t have the stress of tests or grades. This, he decided, was far better. Especially since Snape was… currently yelling at him.

“Sir?” he asked when he heard the Professor bark his name. The thunderous expression Snape wore and the giggling students let Harry know it wasn’t the first time he’d been called.

Snape crossed his arms over his chest and raised a brow at his apprentice. “Day dreaming in class again, Mr. Potter?” he said scathingly.

“Sorry, sir,” Harry mumbled.

“Do you think you know more than _me_ , Potter? Do you honestly believe defeating a Dark Lord has made you some sort of expert? Do you think you could best me?” Harry opened his mouth to deny Snape’s angry words, but he never got a chance. “Prove it, Potter,” Snape spat. “I formally challenge you.”

The collective gasp from the class cleared the angry fog from Harry’s thoughts. He’d known he’d be fighting Snape, but apparently the class didn’t. Snape, he realized, was putting on a show for the class. He wasn’t _actually_ mad at Harry. The thought made him want to grin, but he fought it back. Instead, Harry rose from his chair and slowly crossed the classroom to stand in front of his professor. He folded his arms over his chest in a pose identical to Snape’s, though Harry had to crane his head up to look into Snape’s face. His lip twitched again, threatening to smile over the act they were putting on. It was frighteningly familiar, except for the gleam of amusement he could see in Snape’s eyes. “Your terms, sir?” he asked.

“We will begin when I give the mark and duel until first blood or until one of us signals a cease fire. All spells must use a wand and must be verbal.” He then said in a voice meant only for Harry’s ears, “No Dark Arts.”

“No Legilimency,” Harry added, just as quietly. Snape gave an almost imperceptible nod. “I agree to your terms,” Harry said loudly. Several students cheered, earning them a glare from their professor. Snape stayed as he was even though he began addressing the class. “What you have just witnessed are the three steps required in any Formal Duel. Potter,” he still snapped the name irritably, “What are they?”

“The Challenge.”

“Often referred to as ‘Casting the Gauntlet.’ And?”

“The Accord. Also called, er, Rules of Engagement?”

“Was that a _question_ , Mr. Potter?”

“Ah… no, sir.”

“The final step?”

“Acceptance, sir.”

“Very good.” Snape sneered. “Perhaps you aren’t _completely_ ignorant on the subject, Potter.”

Harry rolled his eyes and bit back a smile. The baiting was _fun_ when he knew Snape was just acting, even if he was doing a damn fine job of it. He wished he’d seen this side of his teacher years ago. “Would you like to know how much I _do_ know, Professor… or are we just going to glare at each other all day?” Harry asked cheekily.

Snape made an odd choking sound and Harry had to again fight against grinning when he realized his professor was trying not to laugh. Abruptly, Snape turned and began counting off paces, his black robes billowing behind him. Harry did the same but with far less dramatic flair. They bowed to each other. Then Harry waited, feeling twitchy. His wand was clasped tightly in his sweaty palm and it itched to cast a hex.

Snape raised his wand quickly and shot green sparks into the air. He lowered his wand in a diagonal slash across his torso, casting a strong _Protego_. Harry used the brief opening to attempt an _Expelliarmus_ but he wasn’t quick enough. Snape was fast, enough so that Harry almost didn’t get his own shield up in time to block Snape’s _Stupefy_.

Formal duels were more about power than anything else. The form they took was rather basic. Both participants cast their strongest shield and then proceeded to try and batter down their opponent’s protection. Though he knew the logistics, this was actually the first one Harry had participated in. It was a bit nerve-wracking to watch hex after hex fly toward him and _not_ move out of the way. Especially when one of Snape’s curses almost shattered Harry’s _Protego_. He sent back a strong _Reducto_ and saw Snape’s eyes widen when his own defense cracked slightly.

“Enough!” Snape yelled, sending up sparks again. “Potter,” he snarled, “How many Death Eaters have you fought?”

‘ _Including you_?’ The words flashed through Harry’s mind, but he wisely left them unvoiced. Snape’s eyes, though, narrowed as if he suspected what Harry was thinking. “I don’t know, sir,” he said instead. “I never thought to count.”

“Did you perform so abysmally then, too?”

Harry smirked. “Probably not, seeing as I’m not dead.”

“I am uncertain how, Potter. I am neither impressed nor surprised by your abilities.”

Harry gave an uncaring shrug. “I think I did pretty good since that was my first Formal Duel,” he admitted.

“You expect me to believe such tripe, Potter?” Snape snarled, stalking toward him.

Harry held his ground, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he rocked on his heels. “Believe what you want, Professor. You always have.”

“The Great Harry Potter… claiming to have never been in a duel. You must think me a fool.”

“I never said I hadn’t been in a duel, _sir_. Just never a Formal one. Death Eaters aren’t too big on simply standing there trading blows. That’s a sure fire way to get stabbed in the back.”

Snarling, Snape grabbed the front of Harry’s robes. He yanked the smaller wizard to him, pulling him up on to his toes. “Do you really think you can do better, Potter?” he snapped. Harry didn’t say anything. He was overcome by the absurd urge to throw his arms around Snape’s neck. He hoped his embarrassed flush was mistaken for anger, but when Snape shoved him away, hard enough that Harry landed on his arse, he doubted it. “Prove it, Potter!” Snape yelled.

“Fine!” Harry yelled back, knowing he had to acknowledge the duel in some way. Snape immediately fired off a _Petrificus Totalis_ but Harry rolled out of the way. It struck the ground next to him harmlessly. “Get to the back wall!” he shouted at the students while diving behind Snape’s desk. Chairs scraped against the floor and were knocked over as the students scrambled to obey. None of them noticed that both Harry and Snape had stopped fighting and were working together to layer protective enchantments around the area quickly.

Harry dove back behind the desk once the duel resumed, mainly to dodge the _Diffindo_ Snape had cast that let Harry know they were “fighting” again. He shot hexes around the desk, over it, and once even jumped on top of it. Snape’s chair became another shield to block spells until it was blasted apart by a _Reducto_.

The older wizard had barely even moved. He shouted out counter-curses as fast as Harry could cast spells and retaliated far too quickly. Harry was moving constantly, crawling and rolling on the floor. At this rate, Harry would tire long before Snape.

‘ _Surprise me_ ,’ the man had said. Harry had an idea, but no clue if it would work. It was something he’d thought up with Ron and Hermione during the long months Horcrux Hunting, but he’d never tried it. When a Blasting Hex narrowly missed him, he decided it was worth a try. He rolled to the side of the desk and stood. Lifting his left hand, he held it palm-out toward Snape. The gesture caused the Defense master to pause, just for a second. It was enough time. Harry slashed his wand downward and intoned, “ _Salvio Hexia._ ” The slight widening of his professor’s eyes was satisfying. But Snape sent him a rather malicious smile when Harry flinched as the first hex dissipated across the protective enchantment.

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” Harry cast, pointing his wand at one of the student desks. With a jerk of his wrist, he sent the desk flying toward Snape. The professor smashed it with a _Reducto_ before it even neared him.

Narrowing his eyes, Snape fired a Cheering Charm at him, forcing Harry to duck behind the desk again. “ _Accio_ Severus Snape’s wand!” Harry yelled when he stood back up. Snape’s wand twitched in his hand, but he tightened his grip and held on. Harry continued to feed power into the Summoning Spell. He stepped closer while concentrating on getting Snape’s wand. He realized his mistake as he felt the faint tingle of his own shield pass over him. Then, he noticed Snape’s smirk. “Oh, shite.”

What started out as a quiet utterance turned into a startled yelp as he was jerked off his feet. He dangled in the air over Snape’s desk by his ankle. He mustered as much dignity as possible while hanging upside down with his robe flapping over his head and his glasses perched somewhere uselessly around his forehead. “You cheated,” he said indignantly. 

“Did I?” Snape asked with a self-satisfied smile.

“ _Levicorpus_ can only be cast non-verbal,” Harry said, not ignorant of the irony that he was lecturing the spell’s creator. “Our Accord stated all spells had to be verbal.”

“Mr. Martin,” Snape said toward the back of the class where the students were still huddled. “Other than form, what is the most significant difference between Formal and Informal Duels?”

The Slytherin boy straightened, obviously trying to pretend he hadn’t been called on while cowering. “Informal duels have no Rules of Engagement, sir,” the boy answered immediately.

“Bollocks,” Harry cursed softly.

“Indeed.” Snape stepped closer to him. Oddly, Harry noticed that his eyes were level with the same button on Snape’s robes as they would’ve been if he was right side up. Snape looked down at him. “Good job, Mr. Potter,” he murmured. “Most impressive.”

“Thanks, sir,” Harry said dryly. “Could you let me down now?”

“No.” Snape was definitely smug. “You accused me of cheating.”

Harry gaped as Snape turned back toward the students. “Take your seats,” he barked, idly repairing the desk Harry had thrown at him. He gave them all a minute to comply before asking, “How many of you recognize the spell Mr. Potter used?”

Several hands shot into the air. Snape gave a small nod.

“Good. _Salvio Hexia_ is a protective enchantment similar to _Protego Totalum_ with a few major differences. Ms. Dint, can you name one of them?” he directed the question toward a small Slytherin girl who was excitedly raising her hand.

“ _Protego Totalum_ protects against any spell cast at the enchanted area, but _Salvio Hexia_ protects only from the spell class Hexia, which includes jinxes and curses.”

“Correct. Ten points to Slytherin.” The girl beamed. “ _Salvio Hexia_ does protect from only those three spell types; however, since it nullifies those spells instead of absorbing them, it is considered nearly impossible to break, unlike the _Protego_ shields. Also-”

“Sir?” Harry interrupted.

Snape turned partway around so he could see where Harry was dangling in the air. “Did you have something to add, Mr. Potter?”

“I think I’m going to pass out.”

“Very well.” With a flick of his wand, Snape ended the _Levicorpus_. Harry crashed onto the desk with a startled “ow!” He started to sit up, but his head spun, so he just lay there.

“Now, as I was saying,” Snape continued, his smirk practically audible, “ _Salvio Hexia_ protects against those spell types passing though the barrier in either direction. Once Mr. Potter cast that enchantment, he limited what spells he could use as well. It makes it rather uncommon in duels, though I do believe it was a specialty of Professor Flitwick’s. For next week, I want eighteen inches on spells not commonly considered combative that you could use in dueling. Class dismissed.”

Harry listened to the students leave, but didn’t bother trying to sit up and watch them. He knew once the last were gone because Snape moved to loom over him. “You’re on my desk, Potter,” he said, apparently amused by the situation.

“That would be your fault, sir,” Harry pointed out.

“True.”

“What were you planning on assigning them? If I hadn’t used _Salvio Hexia_ , I mean.”

“I was assuming you would do _something_ worthy of critique.”

Harry grinned at the ceiling. “Happy I could oblige, Professor.”

“Indeed.” 

Harry heard a muttered _Reparo_ and snickered; Snape was fixing his chair. That reminded Harry-

“I think we broke my glasses.”

“I did no such thing. _You_ broke your glasses.”

“Because _you_ dropped _me_ on top of them.”

“I consider it no big loss; they really are hideous.”

“I know. But I have to see.”

“You do know your eyes could be fixed with a potion, don’t you?”

“Those exist?” Harry asked in amazement.

“You’re an idiot, Potter.”

Harry swung his legs off the edge of the desk and sat up. “Oh, fuck, ow,” he moaned as his head throbbed and his vision spun. 

“Drink this,” Snape said, pressing a cool glass vial into Harry’s hands. Harry downed the foul contents quickly.

“Was that it?” he asked.

He heard a derisive snort. “No, Potter, that wasn’t it. The Eyesight Restorative Draught will take several weeks to brew.”

“Oh.” He searched blindly around the desk for his glasses. He knew he’d felt the broken frames under him earlier. “I don’t want to be a bother, sir.”

“It is no bother. I find it an interesting potion to brew.”

Harry’s fingers closed over the glasses and he cast a quick wandless _Oculum Reparo_ on them. “If it’s no bother, why haven’t you offered it before?”

Snape chuckled softly. “Don’t be absurd, Potter. I didn’t _like_ you before.”

Harry grinned, wondering if that meant Snape liked him now. He slipped his fixed glasses on his face and his smile grew at the sight that met him. Snape was slouched down in his chair, head resting against the back with his eyes closed. His hands were folded over his stomach and his long legs were stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle. He looked… content. Exhausted, but content.

“Tired, sir?” Harry asked sympathetically. He wished he hadn’t when Snape immediately sat up straight, not allowing anybody to see him in such a relaxed pose.

“Of course I am, brat. You are exhausting.”

Harry started to respond but anything he was going to say was stopped by a huge, jaw-cracking yawn. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“The Headache Draught I gave you contains a mild sedative.”

“Is that what it was?”

“I assumed you realized as such when your headache began to lessen,” the man sneered.

“Well, yeah. I just figured it was getting better because all the blood was leaving my brain and heading south where it belongs.”

“Indeed.” Snape chuckled softly. “I do believe that is more or less an accurate statement for a young man your age.”

“Oh, gods. I, ah, didn’t mean it like _that_ ,” Harry said, realizing the insinuation. He immediately blushed a bright red.

“And now the blood is rushing back to your face again,” Snape observed with amusement.

“What do we have next, sir?” Harry asked, changing the subject away from his own embarrassment.

“Fourth Years. Slytherin and Gryffindor. It is the smaller of the two classes.” He didn’t need to say it was because so many of the previous Slytherins had left Hogwarts permanently. Harry understood. Slytherin House only held about half the students it once did. “It will be completely lecture. You should return to your dorm. Get some rest. The headache remedy will make you increasingly drowsy.”

“I’m fine, sir.” The words were interrupted by another yawn.

“It wasn’t a suggestion, Potter.”

Harry would’ve argued more, but another yawn threatened so he nodded instead. “All right,” he agreed, sliding off a Snape’s desk. “Today was fun, sir,” he added.

“Be prepared to do it again on Thursday.”

“All right. As long as you don’t dangle me upside down for so long.”

“I make no promises.”

Harry snickered and took his leave. A nap beckoned him.

*****************


	14. Another Step of Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his first day of classes, Harry is called up to the Headmistress’ office. Unfortunately, McGonagall isn’t the only one who wants to talk to him.

** Chapter 14 — Another Step of Acceptance **

Harry should’ve been expecting the summons to McGonagall’s office. Though he wasn’t, not consciously, it still came as no surprise when he received a message asking him to come by before dinner. Snape was already there, slouched down in his seat like a petulant First Year. Harry snickered at the thought. It was — _dare he say it?_ — cute to see Snape, of all people, pouting.

He straightened, though, as soon as he caught sight of Harry. “See, Minerva? I _told_ you your Golden Boy was perfectly fine,” he snarled.

Harry took the seat next to his professor and looked across the desk at the headmistress. She wore a rather stern expression and was glowering disapprovingly at them both. “Are we in trouble, sir?” he asked Snape sotto voce.

“It appears our little demonstration today was… misconstrued.”

“Oh.”

“When you did not appear for the last class of the day, it was decided I must have killed you and chopped you up for potion ingredients.”

“Oh,” Harry said again. “I’m glad you didn’t. I didn’t much care for being used as an ingredient. I don’t fancy trying it again.”

Snape visibly startled. Harry considered it a victory.

“Your ‘ _demonstration_ ’ terrified the students,” McGonagall reprimanded them.

“Oh, bullshit, Minerva,” Snape replied rudely. “My Slytherins would know I’d never kill Potter in front of witnesses and your Gryffindors would’ve been too bravely stupid to think _they_ might’ve been in danger.”

“Hey!” Harry said with a glare. “I would’ve known.”

“Unlike you, Potter, your classmates have not witnessed the destruction two powerful wizards can cause in a duel.”

Harry remembered the utter devastation created of the Ministry Atrium during Voldemort and Dumbledore’s duel. Then, he remembered he had stood there and watched it happen. He didn’t argue the point any further.

“Minerva,” Snape said, still stating his/their case, “the students will remember _this_ class far better than they would’ve if I’d merely lectured on protocols or we’d given some stilted mock battle. _This_ lesson, at least, will stay with them.”

Minerva pursed her lips, still clearly unhappy. “Fine,” she conceded. “But, Severus, in the future, do keep in mind what I said about teaching through fear.”

The dismissal in her tone was evident. Both wizards rose to their feet. “Harry,” McGonagall said politely, “Stay. Both Albus and I would like a word with you.”

Snape, who’d been striding quickly toward the door, paused at the former Headmaster’s name. “Do I need to remain, Potter?’ he asked quietly.

Harry appreciated the question. He also appreciated the weird look that crossed McGonagall’s face, though he frankly didn’t know what it was about. He gave Snape a small shake of his head and the beginnings of a smile. “Thanks, Professor, but that won’t be necessary.”

“Very well, then. Good day, Headmistress,” Snape said, bowing slightly to McGonagall.

The Headmistress studied Harry sadly until the door closed behind the Defense Master. “Harry,” she said cautiously, “Is there something Professor Snape is worried you are going to tell me?”

Truthfully there _was_ , but Harry couldn’t understand where the question was coming from. Then, he realized how McGonagall viewed Snape’s comment. Did she think his Mentor was pressuring him to stay quiet about something? Harry snorted at the ridiculousness of the idea.

“Not at all,” he assured the Headmistress. “He… he was worried about me.”

McGonagall was giving him a disbelieving look. Frankly, he didn’t blame her. Most would think it rather absurd that _Snape_ was worried about _Harry Potter_. “Does he have reason to be concerned for your wellbeing?” she asked carefully. She knew Harry had difficulty adjusting to life after the war.

“No,” Harry said, giving a bright smile. “I’m fine. Honestly. But, well, I’ve been a bit peeved at the Headmaster, and I guess Sn- Professor Snape, I mean — thought I might get upset.”

“Why would you be-”

“Minerva,” a kindly voice interrupted, “young Harry has good cause to be upset with me. I will discuss it with him in a minute.” The ‘ _when we are alone_ ’ was left unsaid, but heard by all the occupants in the room.

“Very well, Albus,” Minerva said before turning back to Harry. “Are you sure everything is fine between Severus and yourself?” she asked, studying him shrewdly.

“Yeah. In fact, it’s… better than I expected.” He paused for a moment before flashing a wide, conspiratorial grin. “Can I ask you an odd question?”

“Of course,” McGonagall answered, looking slightly hesitant.

“You know the big hourglasses that keep track of House points? Do they make little ones? Say… small enough to carry with you or wear on a necklace or something?”

Minerva appeared rather amused by the question, as if she somehow knew what Harry intended to use it for. “I believe I know a jeweler who makes them. They are, unfortunately, rather expensive since they use precious stones instead of glass.”

Harry dismissed the cost easily. “That’s fine. Any chance you could order me one? I’ll get you the galleons, of course.”

McGonagall’s lips were twitching with suppressed humor. “Would you prefer Gryffindor or Slytherin colors?”

“Um… Slytherin. Snape might be less apt to kill me if he found out about it,” Harry snickered.

Minerva chuckled as she consented. She informed Harry she would contact the shop her friend owned and inform him of the price. They talked for several more moments about inconsequential matters. Mainly, Harry told her of the classes he’d been part of so far. He admitted he was slightly jealous of the students since they had a competent teacher and his DADA instructors had been either idiots or evil. Except, of course, for Moony.

The Headmistress listened to him with a fond smile. She shared a small glance with Albus, whose blue eyes were twinkling happily. She doubted Harry realized how close his enthusiasm came to gushing. Every other sentence began with “ _Professor Snape said this_ …” or “ _Professor Snape did that_ ….” Albus wore a knowing smile, as if he’d foreseen this outcome long ago.

Eventually, Harry wound down slightly. Minerva handed him a fresh cup of tea with an indulgent look. “I will leave you now so you can speak to Albus privately. Come see me if you need anything, Harry.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

“Do try to show up to dinner. It will do the students good to see you hearty and hale.”

Harry gave her a broad smile and watched as she left him alone in her office. The smile melted away. He glanced at Dumbledore’s portrait with a hint of trepidation. There was so much he needed to ask Albus, and quite a bit more he wanted to say to the old man. Just like every time he’d spoken to the portrait since the Final Battle, he didn’t know _how_ to say much of what he wanted to.

There was a long tense moment of silence between them. Well, it was tense for Harry; as a portrait, Albus probably didn’t notice the atmosphere. Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Did you know, sir?” was all he said.

“I’m afraid you will have to be more specific, my boy. I know many things, though there are a great many more I do not.”

Harry grit his teeth. “Did you know about what the Hat was going to tell me? Did you know I’m a Dark Wizard? About my _gift_?”

“Ah. Yes, Harry, I did. In fact, I counted on it.”

“What?!” Harry exclaimed. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

“Would you have been prepared to accept such information about yourself before now?” Dumbledore said instead of giving a straight answer.

Harry glanced away. He didn’t want to admit that Dumbledore was right. If he’d been told he was a Necromancer back in his Second Year — or anytime during his stay at Hogwarts, really — he would’ve questioned himself greatly. It may have even turned him from his destined path.

“Ignotus Peverell,” Albus was saying, “He was the last of his name, but not of his line. After the death of his brothers, Ignotus feared people learning of the Hallows. Apparently, he decided the best way to hide them was by ending the Peverell line completely. This was, of course, made more complicated by the fact that he had a wife and son. I’m sure you remember the story well enough to know that Ignotus’ son inherited the cloak. He did not, however, inherit the Peverell name. Octavius Peverell disappeared shortly after his father’s death and was never seen or heard from again.”

Harry wondered what the impromptu history lesson had to do with anything, but he realized Dumbledore would reach his point eventually. Or confuse him until Harry forgot what he was irritated about. Either way, once Dumbledore began sprouting history lessons, it was doubtful he would learn what he wanted to know unless Albus deemed him ready to. So, Harry just nodded his head slightly. 

“Most assumed Octavius, like his Uncles, had met an untimely death. However, he had not. He had merely changed his name and magical identity so he could no longer be easily found.”

“Potter,” Harry said with certainty. “We aren’t just a distant branch; Octavius Peverell was the first Potter.”

“Yes, Harry. You are as much a Peverell as you are a Potter.”

The Gaunts had been distantly related to the Peverell’s, too, Harry remembered. Which meant Tom Riddle was a twig on Harry’s family tree. That thought led to many others, but he only voiced one. “Does that mean there is a chance I came by my Parseltongue naturally?”

“A chance, yes. But the Gaunts were descended from Cadmus Peverell.”

“The second son,” Harry said blandly.

“Yes. After the death of his beloved, Cadmus allowed his father to arrange a marriage for him. It was, of course, loveless, since he still pined for the one he’d lost. Ignotus kept the Resurrection Stone for a time after his brother’s death, but it was eventually returned to his descendants, just as the Elder Wand was given to the descendants of Antioch, presumably by Octavius.”

“As fascinating as this is, sir, what does it have to do with me and my gifts?” Harry asked, wondering why Dumbledore hadn’t told him this a year ago when they’d discussed the fact that Harry was now Master of Death.

“It is speculated among many of those who seek the Hallows that the three brothers were Necromancers, of unprecedented strength. Many believe they _created_ the Hallows using their gift, though the most popular belief is that they received them after they successfully summoned Death.”

“Summoned Death,” Harry repeated numbly. “Why would anybody summon _Death_?”

“Some see it as the ultimate test of a Necromancer’s abilities.”

“That’s mad!”

“Which is why few live through the experience.”

Harry shook his head. The more he learned about his ‘gifts’ the less he tended to like them.

“Regardless of how the _true_ history unfolded,” Dumbledore continued, “the descendants of the Peverells are more apt to carry Necromantic abilities.”

“Is that why you asked the Hat to check me for them? Because I’m a Potter?”

“I did not _ask_ the Sorting Hat to look for anything, my boy. I did not feel there was a reason to. I certainly didn’t suspect you were a Necromancer. Your father, after all, owned the cloak and never showed any signs of being a Dark Wizard. I did not expect you were until after the events of your Fifth Year. It was only then that I discussed you with the Sorting Hat.”

Harry chewed his lip, trying to assimilate everything he was learning. “What happened Fifth Year?” he asked curiously, then realized it was the wrong question. After all, what _hadn’t_ happened Fifth Year? Occlumency, visions, Umbridge, Sirius falling and falling and… “What made you talk to the Hat about me then?” he asked in order to stop the steady stream of painful memories.

“Your description of the Death Chamber, of the Veil, differed from those of your classmates.”

The voices. If Harry closed his eyes, he could almost still hear them. The broken, haunted whispers from beyond the Veil. “Luna could hear them too,” he pointed out.

“Yes, though Ms. Lovegood’s gift is not Necromantic in nature, it is of a related branch of magic. One closer associated with Clairvoyance. I believe Muggles would call her a Medium.”

Harry nodded slightly. It made sense, at least in regards to Luna. But… still, he didn’t understand what Dumbledore was trying to tell him. “Why did it matter if I was a Necromancer? I’m sure there were loads of Potters with the abilities.”

Dumbledore sighed heavily. He gave Harry a sad look. “At times like this, I miss my dear Fawkes,” the Headmaster said out of the blue. “His trill was so soothing.”

Harry wanted to snap, ‘ _Just tell me already! Quit speaking in riddles_!’ but he didn’t. Instead, he simply waited.

“During my… absence from Hogwarts, I had begun searching for the memories of Tom Riddle that I shared with you. I already suspected the diary was a Horcrux and suspected Tom had created others. When you were repeatedly unable to learn Occlumency to block him from your mind, I….” He broke off, looking at Harry with deep regret.

“You realized I was one,” Harry said bluntly. “You realized I had to die.”

“Yes, my boy. I did. I was, quite frankly, horrified. I have done many things I regret, Harry. Sending you to your death, however… I did not trust I would be able to do so, though I knew it was for the greater good. Then, I saw the memory of Bob Ogden, and I saw a solution.”

“The ring of the Peverells. You knew it was the Resurrection Stone.”

“Yes. I had one of the Hallows and you held the other. If I could get the third-”

“You would become Master of Death.”

“No, my boy, _you_ would. I knew then the Elder Wand needed to somehow pass to you. It was the only chance I could see to save you.”

Harry reeled. He’d never suspected he was given the Hallows in order to save his life. But then, that would have defeated part of the purpose. Harry had to believe, completely and wholeheartedly, that Dumbledore was sending him to a permanent death or the sacrificial protection spell would not have activated. He wondered, with a bit of awe, how convoluted Dumbledore’s stratagems really were. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” he asked, almost desperately. All this time he’d felt so betrayed, so… discarded. And he hadn’t been.

“For the plan to work, you needed the gift of Necromancy. The Hallows would not have come together otherwise; you could not have become Master of Death without your gift. I was trying to spare you, Harry, from learning of your power. I did not think you would relish learning you are a Dark Wizard, nor did I think you would use your gift, not with such magnitude. Therefore, I didn’t see reason to upset you or have you trained in it. However, that changed after the Final Battle, when you _truly_ became Master of Death.”

“Snape,” Harry whispered. “If I hadn’t resurrected Snape…”

“There would’ve been no reason for you to need training in the Dark Arts. But now your gift has been woken and you will need to learn to control it lest it controls you.”

It was doubtful that Dumbledore expected Harry’s reaction. A wide grin split his face. Many of his fears vanished with the last bit of understanding the Headmaster gave him. His mum had known — of his gift, of what he’d become — and she’d still encouraged him to use the Hallows. 

Acceptance, Harry decided, was a wonderful feeling.

****

*************

The Great Hall started buzzing when Harry walked in late. He ignored the stares and whispers, having grown used to them years before. Fifth House burst into loud conversation as he approached. “I see the Boy-Who-Lived still lives!” Draco shouted, attracting the attention of several students from other tables.

“Yes… rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” Harry said, causing Hermione to snicker.

“Did you really throw a chair at Snape?” Ron asked with a nervous glance at the head table. Ron gulped when the Defense Master glared. He still exclaimed “Brilliant!” when Harry confirmed he had, though.

“I thought about 'Mione when I did it, actually,” Harry said, flashing his friend a grin.

“Chucking a chair at Snape made you think of my girlfriend? You’re mental, mate.”

The girl in question smacked Ron over the head with her book. “The troll, Ron,” she said impatiently. “We defeated the troll using _Wingardium Leviosa_. I’m sure _that_ is what Harry was referring to.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, taking a large bite from a roll.

“Mr. Potter,” a shrill voice said loudly. “I hear you demonstrated the _Salvio Hexia_ Defense today.” Flitwick sat at the opposite end of the High table and was yelling across the Great Hall to him. Harry could tell the students around them were listening with rapt attention.

He swallowed his mouthful before answering, just as loudly. “Professor Snape told me before class he wanted me to surprise him during the dueling demonstration so I tried it. I’m afraid I couldn’t think of many spells to use. He said it was a specialty of yours, though. I bet you’re brilliant with it.”

The diminutive professor puffed up with pride. “I have written several articles on the subject, if you wish to learn more.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Harry said brightly. “I’d like that.”

“Come by my office later, Potter. I keep copies of all my published work.”

Harry agreed quickly, honestly interested in reading the articles. As he settled down to eat, he received a small nod of approval from Snape. Draco leaned over and murmured, “Well done, Potter.” Harry immediately knew what his blood brother was referring to.

“I couldn’t have done it without your opening,” he said quickly. “I appreciate it.”

“Couldn’t have done what?” Ron asked around a mouthful of potatoes. 

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. But for once she didn’t lecture Ron on his manners. “The students thought the duel was _real_ , Ron,” she said instead. “I’m assuming Snape was reprimanded because of it.” Harry nodded in confirmation. “That’s why Harry just told everyone it was staged.”

“He did?” Ron’s jaw dropped open, showing bits of his dinner. “When?”

Hermione just huffed an annoyed sigh and rolled her eyes. Harry couldn’t help but grin. Life, he decided, might be odd in some ways, but it was certainly predictable in others. He decided he could live with that.

*************


	15. Nastily Exhausting Saturdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fifth House begins to discover just how difficult the school year is going to be.

** Chapter 15 — Nastily Exhausting Saturdays **

Fifth House, as a whole, was unhappy. Students, books, and parchment were scattered all about the Common Room, though only the students were groaning tiredly. The Founders all feigned sleep, not wanting to interact with the currently preoccupied students. The atmosphere was one of tense exhaustion. Except for Hermione and the Ravenclaws, of course, who were all exuding anxious excitement.

“There’s so much to do,” Lisa moaned in panic. “We’ll _never_ be ready in time!”

“We will,” Hermione said confidently. “The Professors will make sure of it.” Her announcement was met with several groans.

The Saturday NEWT classes had begun that morning and already they were feeling overwhelmed. The day had begun with a comprehensive Charms exam, covering all material that _might_ make an appearance on the NEWTs. Then, after lunch, Flitwick had revised First Year Charms. The entire year! In one day! Harry’s hand was so cramped from writing, he had difficulty holding his wand when they moved on to the practicals.

“It’s just going to get harder,” Terry pointed out. Justin sat up and pommelled his boyfriend with one of the throw pillows. “Sorry! Sorry!” Terry said, laughing. “I promise I won’t state the obvious anymore!”

“Terry’s right, though,” Mandy said, a bit timidly after seeing her classmate so thoroughly trounced upon. “We don’t even start revising anything other than core classes until after Christmas.”

“Salazar! Don’t even mention that!” Zabini exclaimed. “I don’t want to think what today would be like with an evening session added on!”

“It’s bloody mental, it is,” Wayne agreed.

“At least we won’t have to go to all the sessions once those start,” Neville, ever the optimist, pointed out. “I mean, I didn’t take many classes outside the core ones, and I dropped several of those once I hit NEWT level.” Most of the Ravenclaws glared at the boy, eyes calling him a slacker. He gave an uncaring shrug.

“What is Sprout requiring for your contract?” Harry asked curiously.

“An O in Herbology and two other passes.” He turned bright red suddenly. “She asked me to at least _try_ to get a NEWT in Potions.”

“Blimey,” Ron said softly. It was common knowledge, at least among the Gryffindors, how much Neville hated Potions. The Lion’s Den had thrown him a party when he was finally able to drop the class. “I feel sorry for you lot, having to give up your Saturdays.”

“Ron!” Hermione snapped irritably. They’d been fighting on the subject all week, ever since Ron had learned the requirements of his contract. “Just because Madam Hooch didn’t demand any NEWTs, it doesn’t mean they aren’t important!” she argued for the umpteenth time.

Harry had been surprised to learn that the NEWT requirement was set by each individual Mentor, not by the school or the Board of Governors. Several of the students weren’t ‘true’ apprentices because the positions didn’t exist. Neither Ron nor Hannah were required to get certain NEWT scores; they simply had to take them at the end of the year. Hannah had pointed out that Muggle Studies was quite often taught by Squibs and they didn’t take NEWTs. Ron, much to Hermione’s horror, had just said studying was a waste of time because it would take him away from practices once try-outs were finished.

Draco and Lisa weren’t actual apprentices either, but their Mentors had included NEWT goals for them in their contracts anyway. Madam Pince had based Lisa’s on what she’d need in order to be accepted at the _Biblioteca di magi_ , the library she wanted to intern at after graduation. Draco’s were set by what he’d need to get into the program at St. Mungo’s. Next to Hermione, he needed the highest scores.

Everyone had been appalled — and Draco rather embarrassed — when Hermione told them Lucius demanded nine NEWTs, and at least half needed to be Outstanding. Hermione had taken it in stride, though, and had calmly pointed out that she _planned_ on taking ten and there was no way she’d strive for anything less than on O in any of them. Even the Ravenclaws had looked to be in awe of the witch.

“I can’t believe they put _me_ in charge of the study groups,” Lisa complained.

“It makes perfect sense, Turpin. You _are_ the assistant Librarian,” Daphne pointed out.

“I know. And they _did_ make suggestions on who should partner together. Professor Flitwick promised to get me a copy of today’s results so I’ll know what everybody needs to focus on. But still! It’s a lot of responsibility. What if Mandy fails her Charms NEWT because I forgot to tell her to work on her Summoning Spells!?”

“Relax, love,” Mandy chided, pulling her girlfriend into a hug. “I think all of us will know _exactly_ where our weaknesses are. I’m just confused by some of the partners they suggested.”

Lisa shifted in her arms, and dug the list from her robe pocket. She twirled a lock of her dirty blonde hair as she read over it again. “You’re right,” she admitted, “some of these make no sense. I mean, why pair Malfoy with Harry? It seems like it would make more sense to put him with Hermione since they both need to study more. Or even Malfoy and Zabini. St. Mungo’s requires an O in Potions, after all. But they have Blaise partnered with Wayne and Neville!”

“I can explain that one, at least,” Zabini said with a look of superiority. “Sluggy believes any Potions Master worth his weight needs to have a firm understanding of plants and creatures.”

Draco was nodding. “Fabricating potions is easier if you understand the magical properties of the ingredients.”

Zabini glared at his roommate, obviously thinking Draco stole some of his thunder. “All right,” he drawled snidely, “Can you explain you and Potter?”

Harry panicked, knowing the real reason they’d been partnered, but Draco gave a nonchalant shrug. “A lot of the patients at St. Mungo’s need a Curse Breaker. There _is_ a reason I also need an Outstanding in Defense.”

Lisa, though, wasn’t even listening to them. She was still frowning at the list. “Hermione isn’t even on here.”

Harry snickered. “That’s because Hermione will be in the Library all the time anyways. With you, apparently.”

“Keep your mitts off my girl!” Mandy laughingly told Hermione, pulling Lisa away from the side of the couch the Gryffindor witch was sitting on. “I don’t want to hear any rumors of you two snogging in the stacks!”

Ron snorted loudly. “As if ‘Mione would be interested. She’s got me,” he added proudly.

“Yeah, but you’ve vowed to stay away from the Library, Weasley. She’s got to snog _somebody_ in the stacks.”

Everyone, other than Hermione, laughed at Justin’s comment. Hermione was too busy turning bright red. Harry also noticed she kept glancing at Daphne during her embarrassment. He caught Draco’s eye and nodded at the two girls. Malfoy raised an eyebrow and nodded as well. The two of them would find out what that was about before the end of the weekend, Harry decided. Either from Daphne or Hermione.

The Slytherin in question was giving Hermione a rather shy smile. “Speaking of the Library,” she announced, standing up from her spot on the floor by Draco’s feet, “I’m going to go revise while it’s still fresh. Anyone care to join me?”

Everyone groaned, but in the end a third of the students trooped down to the Library with her.

*****************


	16. Forum for Curiousity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is learning far more in her apprenticeship than she expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> " _A journalist is basically a chronicler, not an interpreter of events. Where else in society do you have the license to eavesdrop on so many different conversations as you have in journalism? Where else can you delve into the life of our times? I consider myself a fortunate man to have a forum for my curiosity_."  
>  — Bill Moyers

**Chapter 16 — Forum for Curiosity**

Hermione’s first ‘lesson’ with Lucius Malfoy did not go as she expected. She found the professor relaxed at his desk, holding a small, nondescript book in his hands as he read intently. Two much more sizable tomes were sitting on the desk in front of him. Hermione perched in the chair designated for students and waited for him to say _something_. She couldn’t help but notice that her previous assessment about the chair was indeed correct; it was horribly stiff and ungodly uncomfortable. She had no doubts that it was intentional.

“These two books are all you will need for this _apprenticeship_ ,” Lucius said when he finally spoke. He sneered the last word slightly, which was hardly surprising. “Neither of them will leave these Chambers,” he informed her coldly. He slid the larger of the tomes across the table. It was dusty and worn. Its green leather cover was worn smooth in some places and cracked in others. Embossed on the front in faded gold was a simple hourglass. 

Hermione cast a quick wandless spell she’d learned from the Black Family Library. The only enchantment on the book was a Preservation Charm. A rather strong one, given how worn the tome was. It must’ve been incredibly old to be showing such age while protected by the charm. Her fingers closed around it almost reverently.

“That book has no name and no single author. It is doubtful someone of your birth has ever seen its like, and it is doubtful you will ever see another. You have until Christmas to make a thorough examination of the first section.”

Hermione nodded, ignoring Lucius’ comment about her blood status. He hadn’t called her a Mudblood, which seemed to be at least a bit of progress.

Lucius slid the smaller book across to her. The cover was black cracked leather and had an emblem of an open book on it. The Malfoy Family Crest stood proudly on one of the pages of the sigil. Hermione gasped upon seeing it.

“Do you know what this is, Ms. Granger?” Lucius asked. As usual, his smooth drawl insinuated a myriad of emotions. He was doubtful, surprised, impressed, curious…. Hermione couldn’t tell, though, what he truly thought and what was just a mask.

“Yes, Professor,” she said simply. “It is the source book for the Malfoy Family Library.” She hesitated before continuing, “The symbol of the book is represented with the pages facing outward instead of showing the spine which indicates the books are on record with Ministry Archives as being owned by the Malfoy Family.”

Lucius gave a small nod. “If you wish to read a book, you will look it up in there and write it down. Ask either myself or my wife to send for it.” His tone indicated she should ask Narcissa, and Hermione certainly thought it a good plan, too. “Those texts may not leave these chambers either.”

“When am I to read them, Professor?”

“As long as Narcissa is present, you may use these two rooms while I am in class. As I am still being forced to follow Binns’ curriculum, I do not feel there is any need for you to sit in on my lectures. If you truly wish to learn, Ms. Granger, you will learn more studying these texts.” Hermione nodded her agreement. Lucius paused before he added, “You will turn your notes into me every week, so I can be assured of your progress, of course.”

Hermione had to give the man credit; it was the perfect way to keep track of her interests. She could omit information in conversations or on tests, but he was now monitoring every book she read _and_ seeing what she gathered from them. Plus, he managed to find a way to do it that would require minimal interaction between them.

Still, the amount of information available was vast. She could easily ignore the monitoring by Malfoy. And she did. Her days were spent, more often than not, curled up in a chair in the sitting room reading. Narcissa commonly joined her, either for tea or while reading a book of her own.

Hermione was entranced by what she’d begun to call the Book of Hours. Despite what Lucius thought, Hermione wasn’t ignorant. She had read about those types of books before, though she hadn’t ever expected to see one since they only existed in the older Pureblood families. The Book of Hours was an ancestral tome, journaling the lives and history of various members of the family. It was, in short, a history book told through Malfoy eyes. The section she was reading spanned many of the time periods Binns always had, but instead of being told in the perspective of Ragnook the Furious or Ballast the Bashful, it was about the _wizards_ of the time. It was, in Hermione’s opinion, utterly _enthralling_. She sympathized with Aurelius Malfoy when his village was burned and cheered when he finally took Ragnook’s head even though it began the Third Goblin Rebellion.

The Book of Hours was not all Hermione read. She sent for biographies and diaries, historical analyses, and tomes on theoretical magics mentioned in the Book of Hours. Occasionally, Narcissa would slip a book she hadn’t asked for on the shelf Hermione was using in the sitting room. Books on religion and books on Wizarding art and fashion were silently added and eagerly read.

In this way, the first week of classes passed quickly. Hermione and Narcissa fell into a routine which was not broken until the end of Hermione’s second week as Lucius’ apprentice. “I’ll go fetch some tea,” Narcissa said into the companionable silence one day. Hermione set her book aside and rubbed at her tired eyes. She could see the ornate silver clock on the mantel, though it was slightly blurry. Last block was almost over.

Hermione immediately began gathering her scrolls and the books she’d been reading. As it was Friday, she’d be leaving her scrolls with Lucius over the weekend. It was a pattern they’d set the week before. Hermione had been frustrated at first that she wouldn’t be able to go over her notes when she actually had some spare time. Then she’d gone to her first NEWTs session and discovered ‘spare time’ was a concept that didn’t exist in Fifth House.

Lucius had returned the scrolls with several surprisingly helpful suggestions on further readings. Of course, the suggestions were written in the margins and the scrolls handed back by Narcissa. It was rare for Hermione to actually see her Mentor. She always arrived after breakfast, when he was already in his first class, and always left right before last block let out. Only Lisa knew she spent her evenings in the Library instead of helping her professor as the other apprentices tended to do.

Hermione glanced at the clock again, willing Narcissa to hurry with the tea. She would, unfortunately, probably still have to see Lucius, but she could make her excuse quickly. Finally, after what felt like forever, Narcissa returned to the sitting room, the heavily laden tray floating behind her. She settled the tray on the small table in front of the couch and Hermione immediately began fixing them both cups. She had just finished serving when the door to the outer office banged open. Lucius strolled in looking imperious. “Narcissa, we have…” his eyes narrowed on Hermione, “guests,” he finished coldly.

Narcissa, for the most part, ignored her husband’s rudeness. She rose and gave him a warm greeting, before turning to the shadowy figure still lurking in the doorway. “Severus,” she said fondly, “do come in. I just order tea for Hermione and myself. Can I tempt you? Perhaps with a splash of honey liqueur?” 

“No, thank you, Narcissa. I can stay but a moment. I have something I need to discuss with your husband.” He glanced at Hermione before adding, “A private matter.”

“Oh, very well,” Narcissa said on a sigh. “But do come back when you can stay for a visit. We haven’t seen much of you, or young Harry, since you began your apprenticeship in earnest. We miss you.”

Hermione was surprised by the sincerity in Narcissa’s voice. She had known, of course, that Snape was Draco’s godfather. However, she’d simply assumed it was some sort of Slytherin association. She didn’t expect the genuine fondness Narcissa gave the dour man.

A moment later, Snape and Lucius were ensconced in one of the other rooms. Narcissa was sipping her tea and watching Hermione with a speculative air. Slowly, she sat down her cup. “I hope you know, Hermione, I think of you as my own protégé.”

Hermione gave the older woman a warm smile. Narcissa had been wonderful over the past two weeks. She completely understood why Harry was so fond of the Malfoy matriarch. During their day together, they discussed everything from books to clothes. Narcissa was teaching her of the social setting of the Wizarding World in a quiet, friendly manner. She’d even gone so far as to help Hermione order a new wardrobe so she didn’t have to keep borrowing Daphne’s clothes. “I do,” Hermione said softly, appreciatively. “I hope you know how much I’ve come to value your advice.”

“Good, good. Now I have a new lesson for you. Take out your wand.” Hermione did as instructed, watching the older witch curiously. “Now, repeat after me. _Auscultare ex Moenia_.”

Hermione gasped and recoiled slightly. “I shouldn’t,” she stated firmly.

“Nonsense, my dear.”

“Your husband-”

“Expects it of me. He married a Slytherin, after all.”

“And I am neither a Slytherin nor his wife.”

“Consider it practice for when you have a husband of your own,” Narcissa said flippantly, adding, “Oh, you really should be listening to this, my dear. It is quite interesting.”

Reluctant but curious, Hermione cast the spell. She’d never used the Eavesdropping Charm before and it _was_ interesting. As long as she steadily held her wand at the wall between rooms, she could hear the conversation as if the two men were right next to her. Any time her hand wavered, even in the slightest, the voices faded and grew distant. Luckily, it was easy to distinguish Snape’s rich timbre from Lucius’ bored drawl.

“…Sure you cast correctly?” Lucius was asking.

Snape snarled in response. Hermione could actually hear the man’s growl. “I have been head of Slytherin for almost twenty years. I have had ample practice with the _Nucleum Exhibeo_ spell.”

“Did your students know you were casting it on them?”

“Of course not. Don’t be absurd.”

Whatever Lucius said, it came out muffled. Hermione tried to steady her hand, to little avail.

“I’m telling you, Lucius, I…. Haven’t seen….” Once again, Hermione couldn’t hear Lucius’ response. Then Snape snapped loudly, “He’s Harry bloody Potter! Of course the brat _has_ to be different!”

“I doubt the boy is doing it on purpose, Severus. True, he enjoys riling you, as do we all, but I sincerely doubt he is altering his magical core simply to get under your skin.”

“I’m worried, Lucius,” Snape admitted with a heavy sigh.

“That much is obvious, old friend.”

“I think we should….”

“…. believe it wise, at this juncture?”

“Damn it, Lucius! She’s… who do you think… taking care of me all these years?”

“I assumed the old fool.”

“Only half the time. Poppy treated more than injuries after meetings. I suspect she’s been… the students, as well.”

“I still don’t think… trust her.”

“… could be an ally. Remember… in the staff meeting?”

“Approval of theory doesn’t mean she condones….”

“There is more,” Snape admitted, sounding hesitant. “She came to me… worried… found on anomaly…. She hasn’t said anything to Draco yet.”

“Will it not be suspicious if… us here?”

“… Narcissa present…. Healing abilities make her a natural….”

“Very well, then.”

“That is enough,” Narcissa stated, closing her fingers gently around Hermione’s wand hand. Hermione glanced at her, trying to gauge her reaction. The older witch seemed preoccupied. Hermione didn’t blame her. What she heard was both too much and too little. She had no doubt Narcissa knew what was being discussed, and she wondered if that would make her more or less concerned.

“Is Harry-”

“I’m certain Harry is fine right now, my dear.” Hermione didn’t feel very reassured. It must’ve shown on her face because Narcissa added, “Severus was not panicked, merely irritable. I sincerely doubt such would be the case if anything threatened his protégé.”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said uncertainly. “He seemed to become rather irate anytime he saved Harry’s life.”

“Only proving how much he’s always cared.”

Illogical, perhaps, but it made sense to Hermione. She’d yelled herself hoarse on many an occasion when Ron or Harry ended up in the Infirmary after a Quidditch accident. “I should leave before they come back out,” Hermione said hesitantly. She wanted to stay, to question Narcissa over what they’d heard, but she was sure her guilt would be easy for Lucius to see.

Narcissa gave a distracted nod. “Have an enjoyable weekend, my dear. Leave your scrolls for Lucius on his desk.”

Hermione agreed and let herself out. Instead of returning to the dorms, she went straight to the Library. A few quick words with Lisa got her a pass into the Restricted Section where she grabbed a large tome, Encyclopaedia of Medical Magic. At first, she wondered why it was in the Restricted Section. Then she thought about how students could misuse spells to reattach limbs or knit bones together. She shuddered at the possibility. 

She couldn’t find the spell _Nucleum Exhibeo_ anywhere in the gigantic reference. She slammed the book closed, smiling sheepishly at the identical glares she received from Madam Pince and Lisa. “Sorry,” she mouthed.

“You’re looking in the wrong place.”

Hermione jumped, muffling a shriek, and whirled on Daphne. The Slytherin had snuck up behind her at some point, and was now studying the parchment scrap Hermione had scribbled the spell on. “Pardon?” she asked, once she could control her vocal chords again.

Daphne tapped a perfectly manicured fingernail against the scrap of paper. “You are looking in the wrong place. It isn’t a Mediwizardry spell.”

“What is it?”

“Not sure, exactly. It might be considered Defense against the Dark Arts.” Daphne shrugged. “Plus, that is only the shorthand. The full incantation is much longer.”

“Do you know it?” Hermione whispered urgently. “Tell me,” she ordered when Daphne nodded.

“Tell me why you want to know,” the Slytherin countered.

Hermione glanced around the Library and quickly grabbed her bag. “Not here,” she said, grabbing Daphne’s hand. She pulled the witch behind her into an abandoned classroom. She quickly locked the door and cast several privacy spells. She didn’t even notice her fingers were still entwined with Daphne’s. She began to tell the other girl everything she’d overheard. Daphne’s thumb stroked the back of her hand in a soothing gesture the entire time. “ _Now_ do you see why I need to know?” she asked desperately once she’d finished with the recitation.

“No,” Daphne said slowly. “Now I understand why you _want_ to know. You don’t _need_ to know.”

Hermione jerked away. “Is this where you tell me I’m a Know-it-all who should learn to mind her own business?!”

“Don’t put words into my mouth!” Daphne snapped.

“Sorry,” Hermione said contritely.

“You’re worried about your friends, Hermione, I get that. But Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey are already handling it. Now the Malfoys will be to.”

“I’m sure you understand why I don’t feel too assured just because Lucius bloody Malfoy is involved.” Hermione was unreasonably furious. She didn’t want to admit, even to herself, that Lucius was the reason why. If something was wrong with Harry, _she_ should be helping him, not Malfoy!

“You should be. _Draco_ is involved. They will do everything in their power to help their son. And, for reasons I don’t entirely understand, they seem to consider Potter part of the family as well. They will take care of him, Hermione.”

Hermione’s anger began to drain away, leaving her frustrated. Much to her chagrin, bitter tears blurred her vision. Slender arms folded around her, soothing her. Daphne smelled of rose water and cloves. It was strangely comforting. “I get so scared,” Hermione whispered brokenly. “Harry has been through so much. It just isn’t fair! The war’s over. These things shouldn’t keep happening to him.”

Daphne pulled away, not much but enough that she could look at Hermione. She gently wiped the tears from the Gryffindor’s cheeks. “Potter will be _fine_ ,” she promised. “I know what spell they were talking about, and between Snape, Pomfrey, and Mrs. Malfoy, I’m certain they will figure out what is going on in no time. They really are the best people to handle such a problem. You need to let it go, Hermione. _If_ there continues to be an issue, I’m sure Potter will tell you about it.”

Hermione sniffled and nodded, though she wasn’t so certain. Harry had been even more distant since they returned to Hogwarts. She knew her friend was keeping secrets. She kept hoping he would confide in her, but as of yet he had not. She decided she would give him some time before confronting him. “All right,” she whispered. “If Draco tells you anything, would you be willing to let me know?”

“If it doesn’t break a confidence, I will,” Daphne promised. 

Oddly, Hermione _did_ feel reassured now. She gave Daphne a hesitant smile and started to pull away. The Slytherin, though, refused to let go. “Are you feeling calmer?” Daphne asked, voice tinged with concern. Hermione nodded. “Good,” Daphne declared. “Then you might not freak out if I do this?” she asked, leaning forward and pressing her lips softly to the corner of Hermione’s mouth. She moved away, turning her back on the Gryffindor before Hermione could react. Neither of the girls said anything of the incident as Hermione removed the spells on the classroom. The silence as they walked to Fifth House together was only slightly strained.

*************

_auscultare ex moenia_ \- to listen to from the walls

_nucleum exhibeo_ \- to show the core of


	17. Unseen Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More than anyone bargained for is revealed when Harry learns of his Mentor’s concerns.

** Chapter 17 — Unseen Complications **

“Any idea what this is about?” Harry asked Draco. He whispered the question even though everyone in the common was rather busy, either studying or complaining about studying in Ron’s case. Their second NEWT Saturday (First Year Transfig) had not been any easier than the last one.

“I don’t,” Draco admitted. “I was just told to come down after curfew. Severus said _you_ would be able to get us to the dungeons without anyone knowing.”

Harry gave a mischievous grin. Malfoy was going to flip when he saw the Invisibility Cloak and the Marauders’ Map. For now, though, Harry relaxed, listened to the conversations around him, and simply enjoyed being near his friends. Hermione was ignoring Ron (again!) and was taking a rare study break. One of the tables had been completely taken over by Daphne, Lavender, Hermione, and the Patil twins. The girls were all giggling and flipping through large catalogues to order clothes. It was rather uncharacteristic of his studious friend, and Harry wondered if that was why Ron was glaring so fiercely at them all.

“What’s with that?” Harry said casually to Draco, subtly tilting his head toward Ron.

“The Weasel isn’t too happy that Granger is taking her proper place in society.”

“Huh? Proper place in society? As _what_? A fashion model?”

Draco snorted. “No, you idiot. As a respectable witch.”

“But… Mione’s _always_ been a respectable witch.”

“To you, maybe. You tend to look past the surface.” Draco sneered. “Except, of course, when it came to Slytherins. Then you were a bit thick.”

“Prat.”

“Bigot.”

“ _Hypocritical_ Prat.”

Draco started snickering which, in turn, made Harry giggle. Ron transferred his glare onto them. Harry tried to stifle his laughter, but Draco’s continued squeals were just too funny. He did sober, though, when Salazar spoke up from his frame. “ _I hate to intrude on business not my own, young Savior, but I do believe you need to have a quiet talk with your friend.”_

_“Now?”_

_“It might be an opportune time. He seems to be growing increasingly bitter.”_

_“All right, if you think so._ ”

“Could you two _not_ do that!?” Justin yelled across the Common. “It’s creepy.”

“Do what?” Harry asked, a frown creasing his brow.

“Parseltongue, Potter. You were talking in Parseltongue.”

“Oh.” Harry flushed. He hadn’t even realized they’d dropped into the snake language. “I’m sorry.”

“Do _not_ apologize, young man. _You_ are the one owed an apology.” The sharp words, surprisingly, came from Helga. Harry had never heard the Hufflepuff Founder lose her temper. She was shockingly intimidating. He looked up at her, clearly not expecting the rescue. She smiled down at him fondly. “Being a Parselmouth is a gift. Just like young Neville being a Green Man or the young Dragon being able to Heal. Even if you did not come by it naturally, Magic chose you to have the ability. _None_ of you should be ashamed of _any_ of your gifts.” She gave Harry a pointed look, letting him know the words were meant for him and she wasn’t _just_ talking about his Parseltongue abilities. Oddly, she gave Neville the same look. “Now, as for you, young man,” She said rounding on Justin. As she lit into him, Harry decided to make his escape. He muttered to Draco that he’d see him in a bit and grabbed Ron.

“Merlin, I wouldn’t want to be in Finch-Fletchley’s shoes right now,” he laughed, dragging Ron up the stairs to their room.

Ron laughed, just slightly. “Makes me glad that Godric doesn’t generally give a shit.”

Harry agreed, though truthfully, he was a bit disappointed by Godric Gryffindor. Of all the Founders, he interacted with the students the least. Plus, Harry had caught Godric staring at him suspiciously a few times since he’d admitted his gifts to them.

“So,” Harry said nervously.

“So,” Ron replied, looking just as awkward.

“Spill,” Harry ordered. Ron bit back a groan. Ever since the ‘Horcrux incident’ they had agreed not to let anything fester. None of them were very good at keeping the promise, but they did try.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Ron grumbled petulantly, kicking the side of the bed.

“What wasn’t?”

“Everything!”

“I’m not sure I follow, Ron.”

“After the war! We were supposed to kill the bastard and become heroes! Then we could do anything we wanted!”

Harry almost asked how that _wasn’t_ what happened, but he stopped himself in time. He took a moment to think about it, and almost groaned in realization. Harry knew _he_ had wanted to return to Hogwarts; it had always been his home. Hermione, of course, had been excited to finish school. Had either of them bothered to ask Ron what he wanted? Then again, war hero or not, Molly would’ve tanned Ron’s hide if he hadn’t come back to take his NEWTs.

“Is that what’s _really_ bothering you, Ron? You don’t like your classes?”

“The flying’s great. But the rest of it…”

“Yeah?” Harry prompted.

“You two don’t need me anymore,” Ron said instead.

“What!?” Harry replied in shock. “How could you even think that!?”

“Well, you don’t. You’re both too bloody busy pretending to be Purebloods to need me.”

“Ron,” Harry growled in warning, very irritated by his friend’s mood.

“Well it’s true. You’re always off with the Malfoys, or with _Snape_ , studying who knows what-“

“Defense,” Harry interrupted, only to be ignored.

“- and Mione is either studying or making herself look all fancy so she gets compliments from Draco bloody Malfoy!”

“Is _that_ what this is all about, Ron!? You’re jealous?”

“No.”

“Sounds like it to me, mate.”

“I’m _not_.” Ron gave a frustrated sigh. “ _That_ is the problem. I should be… but I’m not.”

“Oh.”

“I — shit, Har’ — I kissed Hannah.”

“You did what!?”

“Last Saturday, when everyone went down to the Library, Hannah and I snuck out to the kitchens.”

“I remember.”

“We were talking… then it just happened.”

“What? You _fell_ on her lips!?”

“No. Shite. It’s just…” Ron looked at Harry, almost desperately wanting his friend to understand. “Both of us have been feeling a bit lost here, mate. I mean, we are only three weeks into term and even _Neville_ is studying frantically. It is a bit overwhelming.”

“We all feel that way, Ron. It is _why_ we are studying so hard.”

“No, I mean, it is overwhelming how much you lot care when I… don’t. I just don’t, mate.”

“Oh.”

“I know if I told Hermione that she would tear into me. It was so _nice_ being able to talk to Hannah about it.”

“So you kissed her.”

“Yeah, I did. Last time I kissed ‘Mione she told me she was studying and I shouldn’t use her to procrastinate. So, yeah, I kissed Hannah. Because I wanted to. Because she wasn’t sitting there thinking she was better than me the entire time!”

“Hermione doesn’t think she’s better than you.”

“Yeah, she does. It’s why she lectures me all the time.”

“She lectures _everybody_ , Ron.”

“Because she’s better than them, too!”

“Hermione doesn’t think that,” Harry said firmly, keeping a grip on his temper. He hated it when Ron became irrational.

“It’s the truth, mate. She _is_. Smartest witch of our age and all that rot. She can do _anything_ with her life and… she sees that now. I’m just holding her back,” Ron finished sadly. Suddenly, Harry realized he’d been misreading the entire situation. Ron _wasn’t_ being irrational; he wasn’t even all that angry. He was scared. He thought he was losing his two best friends and was scared.

“We’ve all been a bit… distant lately,” Harry pointed out. “I mean, you’ve hardly kicked my arse at chess since you realized Terry and Mandy both play.”

“Bloody well, too. I’ve yet to beat Terry. We have a rematch later.”

“See? Maybe… maybe we are just growing up. Finding our own interests. We were so busy fighting a war, we didn’t stop to see what we wanted out of life.”

“When did you get so bloody smart?”

Harry shrugged noncommittally. He didn’t think Ron needed to hear, not right now, that Lucius had given him similar advice when Harry admitted he wasn’t sure he wanted to be an Auror anymore. “You _need_ to talk to Hermione about all this,” he told his friend instead. “It’s not fair to her if you don’t.”

Ron snorted. “Like you were fair to Ginny?”

A bit of anger reared its ugly head again. Harry bashed it back down. “No. I was oblivious. Once I realized what was going on-”

“You broke up,” Ron interjected miserably.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t _know_ if that’s what I want. I mean, I love her and all, I just… I need time. To figure it out.”

“Don’t take too long,” Harry advised with a warning glare.

****

*************

“Gods, this is so unfair,” Draco complained while hiding under Harry’s Invisibility Cloak and staring in awe at the Map. “No wonder you never got in trouble.”

Harry snorted. “Should I _mention_ all the detentions with Snape you landed me?” he asked sarcastically.

“I _was_ really good at that, wasn’t I?” Draco said proudly.

“Shut up,” Harry mumbled.

“Oh, you’re just ticked because Severus won’t _admit_ you weren’t-“

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry whispered sharply. “Just because nobody can _see_ us, doesn’t mean they can’t _hear_ us if you keep yapping.”

“Oh.” Harry didn’t need to look at Draco to know his pale cheeks were flushed.

Neither of them said anything else as they made their way down to the dungeons. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, both of them pressed tightly together under the Cloak. But Harry could think of worse scenarios; if they’d tried this years ago, Draco would’ve hexed him stupid for stepping on his foot. Now, he just whined a bunch.

The wards on the door recognized Draco and opened to his touch. They crept in quietly, an unspoken agreement to try and startle the adults. Lucius, Narcissa, Snape and surprisingly, Poppy Pomfrey, were all sitting in the parlor of the Malfoy suite. Snape glanced over to where the boys were hidden, and Harry was left to wonder how the man _always_ knew where he was.

“Are you sure this isn’t premature, Severus?” Pomfrey asked, glancing nervously at the Malfoys. “It is a rather large step for him, especially considering he has yet to even begin his training.”

“I am prepared to take even more drastic measures, Poppy,” Snape said firmly, not even looking away to glance at the nurse.

“I know you are. Harry’s safety was _always_ your first priority.”

Finally, the black eyes pinning him in place looked away. “That hasn’t changed,” Snape admitted quietly.

The soft admission warmed Harry in a way the stifling heat under the cloak didn’t. He didn’t realize he was standing there, grinning like a loon, until Draco elbowed him in the ribs. “Ow!” Harry exclaimed, forgetting for a moment that they were hiding and he needed to remain quiet. “What the hell was that for, Malfoy!?”

Both the elder Malfoys startled visibly while Snape simply smirked. Madam Pomfrey gave a slight smile. Harry’d used the cloak often to sneak into the Infirmary and see his friends; she’d known of its existence for some time. His father had done the same.

With their cover blown, Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak off them. Draco immediately began trying to tidy his hair. Harry didn’t bother.

“I didn’t sense any enchantments,” Lucius said quietly; his carefully cultured drawl was gone. Instead, his voice was filled with confusion and a hint of awe.

“I know,” Snape murmured. “Potter’s cloak is… unique.” He glanced at the boy before continuing. “You have to search for the void. The place there _should_ be enchantments but aren’t.”

“ _That’s_ how you always knew where I was!?” Harry cried incredulously.

Snape smirked. “One of the ways. You also use fruity shampoo and stampede around like a hippogriff.” 

“I don’t smell fruity,” Harry whined petulantly. “You’re making that up.”

“I assure you, Mr. Potter, I am not. Though I do enjoy the opportunity to tell you, in all honesty, that you are completely fruity.”

Harry started to protest, but Draco stopped him. “Potter,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to stifle laughter, “as someone who just recently had a face full of the mop you call hair… you smell like a strawberry.”

Harry blushed slightly. “At least I don’t smell like cyanide, Malfoy.”

“Almonds, you idiot. The extract is good for fair hair.”

“Hmm… and what is it cyanide smells like again?” He grinned at Snape. “Perhaps you can help me with this one, Professor.”

Snape gave a dry chuckle. Harry wished he already had his hourglass. That laugh was certainly worth a few points.

“As fascinating as all this is,” Lucius’ bored drawl worked even better than sarcasm, “perhaps we should continue with _why_ we are all here.”

Severus gestured to Poppy, indicating she should begin. She gave him a curt nod. “While I completely understand you have no desire to actually speak on the subject,” there was a silent ‘ _with me_ ’ that everyone heard, “I believe it is necessary. You have my utmost discretion, of course.”

Lucius made a fluttery gesture with his hand, one that obviously said, ‘ _Get on with it_.’

Poppy ignored him, turning instead to the Malfoy Matriarch. “Narcissa,” she said rather fondly, “I know you never formally trained your abilities as a Healer, but did you study them Informally?”

“I did.”

“Did you discover any changes in your core once you began?”

“No, I did not.” Narcissa blushed slightly. One’s core, after all, was a rather private subject.

“I am assuming you balance yourself as well as your husband and son?”

Lucius stiffened, causing Narcissa to roll her eyes slightly. “Are you a Practitioner, Poppy?” she asked politely.

“Not often, no. I have, on occasion, used the Dark Arts. However, I have studied Dark Theory quite heavily so I will be better able to act as a Grounder to those in my care.”

Narcissa smiled at the Mediwitch, as if she’d expected the response. “You have done a wonderful job of it, too,” she said with a smile. “I’m sure you realize, being a Healer yourself, that Healers naturally seek out any imbalances in their bodies and attempt to correct them on their own. That includes sickness, injury, and core stability.”

Severus’ eyes widened marginally. Poppy had admitted to him once that Healers were natural Grounders; it was why, she said, she usually balanced him instead of Albus. Severus had simply been thankful that the Headmaster remained unaware of how often he used the Dark Arts. However, the Defense Master did not realize that Healers were able to automatically balance themselves. He’d thought such a thing was impossible. It did, though, explain why Narcissa had never succumbed to the madness most of the Blacks were lost to, and why Draco had always remained largely unaffected by the taint.

Harry’s eyes were large and questioning behind his spectacles, reminding Severus he needed to add the bilberry to the Eyesight Restorative he was brewing for the boy. He shook his head slightly at Potter, hoping he’d understand that explanations would have to wait.

“I am aware of the natural abilities of Healers,” Poppy said, a bit terse. “It is part of the reason I have made it a practice to scan students under my care. Those that have the gift of Healing, like your son, do not require balancing as often.”

“Did you ever scan Potter?” Severus asked suddenly.

“No. Albus said there was no need,” she answered huffily, as if still insulted the Headmaster would not allow her to work on the Infirmary’s most frequent guest. “He said he would care for him personally because of the blood wards’ influence on his core.”

“What about his father?” he couldn’t help the sneer that accompanied mention of James Potter. It was, after all these years, a rather ingrained habit.

“I did not,” the nurse admitted. “Albus looked after the Gryffindors in that dorm due to…” she paused slightly before continuing, “due to their continued exposure to a Dark Creature.”

“Remus?” Harry asked. “What about Remus?”

“Potter,” Severus growled in warning; it went unheeded.

“No. Tell me. What are you talking about? What scans? And what do my Dad and Remus have to do with them?”

Poppy gave an outraged gasp. “Have you taught the boy _nothing_ , Severus?”

“His text books will arrive later this week,” he said imperiously. “I saw no reason to-”

“No reason! I’d say _this_ is a pretty damn good reason, Severus!” the nurse yelled indignantly.

“Settle yourself, Madam,” Lucius ordered softly.

“While Severus may have a valid point about not rushing Harry’s studies,” Narcissa said, “Poppy is correct that it is now moot.” Her words and tone dissipated some of the tension. “Now, Lucius told me you had… concerns regarding my son’s scan. Perhaps you could show us and we can explain what you are doing to Harry.”

Everyone agreed, some more hesitantly than others. Draco stretched out across the sofa while Narcissa dimmed the lights. “I am going to cast a spell to allow us to see his magical reserves,” the nurse explained to Harry.

The incantation was long and complex. As she cast, light poured from Draco. It coalesced into a barrier a foot above his body. The mass continued to shift and reform until the spell was complete. By then, it created a semi-transparent image of the Slytherin boy, hovering over him as if his own ghost was trying to escape its earthly confines.

“Your comment that we are none of us black or white, but shades of grey, was rather fitting, don’t you think, Harry?”

Harry nodded mutely at Lucius’ comment. Most of the apparition was a soft slate, only slightly darker than Draco’s silver eyes. Here and there, swirls of darker color broke through, creating a strange marbling effect.

“Young Mr. Malfoy has always been remarkably well balanced,” Poppy said, “most likely due to his own Healing ability, slight though it might be.” She beckoned Harry closer; Severus went with him. “These markings here,” she pointed at the black swirls, “indicate that he used Dark Arts recently. It was during our last lesson, in fact,” she added, shocking almost everyone in the room. “The imbalance would be absorbed naturally in the body over time, even quicker for Draco because of his gift. However, in some Practitioners, it will continually accumulate, making it nearly impossible to absorb all of the taint into their magical reserves. Then, they are faced with the effects of having an imbalanced core. That is why Dark Practitioners work with a Grounder who can help them neutralize the effects at an accelerated rate and rebalance their reserves. Using this technique, a Practitioner is able to absorb most of the taint without changing the level of build-up in their core.” Poppy paused to look at Harry. The boy gave her a slight nod, but Severus could tell he’d only understood about half of what the Mediwitch had told him. The nurse turned to Draco’s mother. “Narcissa, if you wouldn’t mind, I will keep the visualization spell going while you cast the Grounding Spell.”

Narcissa knelt by Draco’s head and rested her hands gently upon his shoulders. The spell she cast was oddly hypnotic. Harry’s eyes tried to close, he wanted to be lost in the sound, but he forced them to remain open and watching. The black swirls faded slightly, disappearing into the slate of the rest of the apparition. The area then became a slightly darker grey before it too faded.

“What are those white slashes?” Harry asked curiously, pointing at the few pure white streaks of light slanting across Draco’s chest. 

“They are the reason for my concern,” Poppy admitted. “I noticed them during his Sixth Year.” She blushed slightly upon admitting she’d scanned the boy prior to becoming his Mentor. “I’ve watched them ever since, and there has been no change. Until recently, that is,” she added. “The other day, I noticed this.” She pried open Draco’s clenched fist and the ‘reflection’ did the same. A white gash of light slanted across his palm.

“Oh,” Harry said. The simple word was laden with misery. “I know what they are.”

Next to him, Snape gave a mirthless chuckle. “I’m sure you do,” he said wryly. “Poppy, you can end the visualization.” The Mediwitch did so; Draco sat up slowly, blinking, and looking slightly disoriented.

“Are you going to explain, old friend?” Lucius asked coldly. His eyes were hard. It was obvious he did not like secrets regarding his son being kept from him.

“Draco was hit with a Dark Curse during his Sixth Year. I healed him using the Chant of Chiron. As you know, it purifies the taint of _all_ Dark magic from the inflicted area. It takes some time for the cleansed area to be reabsorbed into the core.”

Lucius closed his eyes, swearing softly. “I recognize the wound pattern. He was hit with _Sectumsempra_ , was he not?”

“Yes,” Snape admitted. “I was… careless. A student got a hold of my old school notes from when I was developing the spell.”

“You had his notes!” Draco exclaimed sluggishly, his words slightly slurred. “That’s why you got so good at Potions!”

All eyes turned to Harry. “I-I didn’t know,” he stammered. “I had no idea what _Sectumsempra_ did before I cast it.”

“Potter’s ignorance was only one factor in the lack of disciplinary action. If we’d punished him then it would’ve become known that Draco was trying to cast the _Cruciatus_ Curse on him at the time. Albus thought it best not to cause any unnecessary trouble due to Draco’s… mission.”

Both students fidgeted, feeling thoroughly reprimanded despite the lack of censure in Snape’s voice.

“And the more recent injury?” Lucius asked with an arched brow.

“I taught myself the healing spell Snape used,” Harry said, blushing slightly. “It looked… useful.”

“And _why_ was it needed?” Lucius’ anger looked barely contained. Harry hadn’t seen him so furious since Second Year when he freed Dobby. He gulped visibly. Draco, however, straightened and looked his father in the eye.

“Potter was nice enough to heal me, Father, after we performed a Blood Brother’s Bond.”

The fury drained from Lucius’ face slowly, leaving him pale. “I hope, Draco, you are aware of the possible consequences of your actions.”

“Yes, Father. You could now choose Potter as the Malfoy Heir.”

“Wait… Seriously?” Harry asked, obviously surprised by the information.

“You didn’t know?” Lucius asked, just as shocked, though his was due to Harry’s lack of knowledge.

“Of course not. I would never have asked Draco for _that_. I just did it to make him feel better. I… I have no interest in being the Malfoy Heir!”

“Should I ask what circumstances led to my godson becoming the _brother_ of Harry Potter?” Severus asked. He closed his eyes briefly, dreading the answer.

“The night before Lucius’ trial began, Draco and I were talking-”

“We were _arguing_ , Potter. If you are going to tell it, tell it right.”

“Fine, Malfoy, we were arguing. You were being a complete prat because you didn’t believe I would actually help your family. You thought I was lying, trying to get your father’s hopes up before I sent him back to Azkaban. I believe your _exact_ words were, ‘ _Nobody does anything for nothing, Potter. What are you expecting to get out of this_?’ Though you probably sounded more poncy.”

Draco shared a smirk with his brother before looking back at his Father’s expectant face. “Potter chose that moment to prove he really does have a Slytherin side.”

“I asked him what he was offering.”

“I offered him anything,” Draco confessed quietly. “I said I would give him anything, that I’d do anything… as long as he saved my family.”

“I said I understood. I’d feel the same. If I had a family.”

Draco gave a small laugh. “Then Potter proved he was not only rather Slytherin, but that he’d spent _far_ too much time in the Black Family Library. He pulled out a book on Blood Magic and showed me the ritual. He asked me to become his blood brother, _his_ family. Then, he’d _have_ to save Father, too, because he’d be family as well.”

“It was the only thing I could think of to prove I sincerely wanted to help.”

“It worked, too. I walked into the Wizengamot _knowing_ Potter would move heaven and earth to help us.”

“Because that’s what family does,” Harry concluded. He glanced nervously at Snape. “Now would be the time to yell at me — I’m reckless, unthinking, I don’t consider the consequences of my actions, et cetera. You know the drill.”

“You are remarkable, brat,” Severus said softly instead, staring down into Harry’s shining green eyes.

The boy was whisked away from him by Narcissa, who hugged him tightly. Tears slid down her pale cheeks. Poppy sniffled as she dabbed her eyes with a wadded-up handkerchief. Lucius even hugged him, thanking him quietly. The atmosphere broke as the aristocrat turned to Draco.

“What was the speech again?” he drawled. “Ah, yes. You are reckless, you don’t consider the consequences of your actions-“

“And he’s a dunderhead,” Harry piped up helpfully. “You always have to include dunderhead. At _least_ once.”

“Perhaps it is time I revise my insults,” Severus said dryly.

“I believe we should celebrate,” Narcissa declared. She raised the lights with a flick of her wand and summoned several glasses. A bottle floated out of the liquor cabinet after them.

“Unfortunately,” Severus reminded them, “there are still matters to discuss.”

“Oh, tosh,” Poppy declared, still dabbing her eyes. “Surely it can wait for one drink.”

“Very well.” His tone made it obvious he was relenting but disagreed.

Luckily, Lucius could read his old friend rather well. They’d barely sat down, drinks in hand, when he brought up the issue Severus wanted to discuss. “You mentioned your… concerns to me before, Severus. I believe you intended to inform Madam Pomfrey of them as well. Yet, the information you gave was sketchy at best.”

“It was impossible to be more specific, Lucius. It seems Potter is somehow immune to the _Nucleum Exhibeo_ spell, for reasons I am not entirely certain of yet.” The last was added with a slight nod. It was a simple code for Lucius which said, ‘ _Don’t ask for more details; I’m not prepared to share them._ ’ The nod he received in turn said the elder Malfoy understood.

Unfortunately, others in the room did not. “ _Immune_?” Poppy asked incredulously. “That isn’t possible. Even _Muggles_ have small amounts of magic that will show up to a _Nucleum Exhibeo_ scan. How could Harry be immune?”

“It has no effect when cast on him,” Severus answered, though that wasn’t _exactly_ the question Poppy was asking. “Hence the reason I asked if you had ever scanned him before.”

“You cast it on me?” Harry asked before Poppy would retort. “When?”

“When you fell asleep studying. In my office, brat.”

“Oh.” Harry’s brow crinkled in thought. “Did you drug me?”

Severus smirked but otherwise ignored him. “I’m sure you see the implications. As his Grounder, I cannot tell if his magic is stabilized. I’m also concerned there may already be an imbalance due to his actions at the end of the war.”

“Is he showing any negative reactions?” Poppy asked. She sounded so professional, Severus expected her clipboard to suddenly appear.

“It is difficult to say. Personally, I never did think the boy acted entirely sane.”

“Hey!”

Severus ignored the indignant squawk. “However, any recent changes in disposition could be attributed to the trauma and release of the war’s resolution.”

Everyone nodded slightly. The war had, to some degree, changed all of them.

“There are other ways to stabilize him, Severus,” Narcissa pointed out.

“Yes, and those measures may need to be taken.”

“He is brother to my son,” Lucius drawled softly. “As such… I give you permission for what may be required.”

“No.”

“You _know_ the magnitude of what he did, Severus,” the aristocrat argued. “You know it might be needed.”

“I will not force it upon him.”

“What are you talking about? Maybe I’d agree.”

“It is nothing of consequence, Potter.”

“Fine,” Harry said petulantly.

“Barring such a solution, I have two possible suggestions,” Snape said, trying not to smirk at Potter’s pout. “I believe we should _all_ enchant the pendant for him so he is protected by the Eye of Truth.” Severus pulled a necklace out of his pocket. Poppy’s eyes widened when she recognized it. She gave a slight nod, indicating she saw the implications of him using that particular necklace. “I also suggest we consider assembling a circle. To Mark him.”

“M-mark me?” the fear in the boy’s voice was evident.

“Not like that, Harry,” Poppy reassured.

“Marking is an ancient wizarding custom, Potter, based on the ‘ _old ways_ ’ of magic. Like many wizarding traditions, the Dark Lord perverted it for his own means,” Severus explained patiently.

“There are many different types of Marks, Harry,” Narcissa continued. “They were used for protection, strength, bravery, fertility, _bonding_. It is still a common practice among many Pureblood families.”

Harry tried to imagine the Weasleys _marking_ themselves and couldn’t. But, he admitted, he could be wrong. Bill and Fleur might’ve marked their bonding and he would’ve been none-the-wiser of it.

“The Mark I am suggesting for you would resemble this one,” Snape said as he unbuttoned his robe and shirt. Harry gasped when he parted the material and exposed his chest. In the center, over his sternum, was a black tattoo of a handprint filled with ornate scrollwork. In the palm was an eye. Hesitantly, Harry moved closer to his Mentor so he could touch the Mark. His fingertips tingled slightly from the magic within.

“It is called a Khamsa, or the Hand of Fatima, though it is commonly referred to as the Evil Eye,” Severus added. Harry snatched back his fingers. Snape rolled his eyes. “It is called such because its stare wards against evil. It is a symbol of luck and protection and is said to frighten away spirits who harbor ill intent. Several reasons, in fact, this Mark would be ideal for you.”

“I though you always said I relied too much on my luck, sir,” Harry said cheekily. His eyes, though, relayed that he understood what wasn’t being mentioned outright. As a Necromancer, protection against spirits would be good. Still, Harry wasn’t so certain he wanted to be _Marked_.

“Couldn’t we just wait?” he asked hopefully. “To see if I start showing any, er, side effects?”

“You’re mad, Potter,” Draco announced, clearly horrified. Then, he flushed. “Not what I meant. I mean-“

“The ‘side effect’ of a magical imbalance would be insanity, Potter.” Severus sneered, just slightly. After all, Harry’s ignorance on this subject was his own fault. However, there was nothing to be done about it now. “At first, your actions would be merely irrational. Then, they would become increasingly dangerous, until you didn’t even care if you hurt someone or even killed them.”

The words were stern, even mildly harsh. Yet none of them expected Harry’s reaction. He thrust his hands into his unruly hair and stared at Snape with his eyes wide in horror. “Oh, gods, no. Please no,” he began whispering, rocking himself slightly.

“Potter?” Severus cautiously placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. It garnered no reaction. “Harry?” he tried again.

Harry looked up at him, green eyes large and pleading behind the horrid spectacles. “Tell me he didn’t, sir. Please… tell me he didn’t.”

“He didn’t do what?” Severus asked uncertainly, having no clue what or who the boy was referring to.

“Dumbledore knew I was immune to the spell. That’s why he said he’d scan me. Just like my dad. He knew… because I _inherited_ it from my father. Because it keeps us _hidden_.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Severus hissed softly. He was glad Potter realized so quickly the true purpose of the Hallow. His magical signature became _completely_ masked by it.

“No!” Harry all but shouted. “You don’t understand. I inherited it from my dad! He knew! Dumbledore _knew_!”

Realization hit Severus like ice water in the veins. Albus told Poppy not to check Harry, just like-

“He _let_ them go mad! Sirius was a Black! Blacks aren’t exactly _known_ for their sanity.” Even in his panic, Harry managed to give Narcissa an apologetic look. “He let them go mad. Sirius almost killed you, Snape! He tried to feed you to… they would’ve _killed_ Moony. And Sirius didn’t care when he did it. Because… because… oh, god! Wormtail!”

Harry was sobbing openly now. Not even questioning his actions, Severus grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled the small body onto his lap. “Hush,” he murmured. “It’s over now. He can’t hurt you anymore.” It was an empty promise and they both knew it.

“I-I just keep learning… more and more… how he fucked with our lives.”

“Shh… it’s all right.” He pulled back so he could look into Harry’s eyes. He slipped the hideous glasses off and wiped the tears away with a gentle swipe of his thumbs along the sharp cheekbones. “We _don’t_ know, Harry. Maybe he _did_ test them. He might have just failed to ground them properly.” It sounded so improbable that Severus immediately amended the statement. “Even if he _didn’t_ check them… Albus was only a man. He made mistakes. Unfortunately, the weight of his mistakes always seems to fall on your shoulders.”

“And yours,” Harry added, still sniffling.

“Our shoulders,” Severus corrected. He tucked Harry’s head under his chin and gently rubbed his cheek along the soft curls. The boy’s sniffles eventually quieted and his breathing leveled out. Severus knew Harry had fallen asleep. “We will bear the weight together,” he said, knowing Harry couldn’t hear him.

Somebody else did, though. When everyone left the room — ostensibly to work on Harry’s pendant, but really just to give the two wizards privacy — Poppy remained. She stood in the doorway, silently watching the two boys she secretly harbored soft spots for. “Damn you, Albus,” she whispered as she again wiped tears from her eyes.

*************


	18. The Chill of Consciousness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Harry just needs to set aside the latest bad news and enjoy time with friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> _“It reminded him of his Uncle Seamus, the notorious and poetic drunk, who would sit down at the breakfast table the morning after a bender, drain a bottle of stout and say 'Ah, the chill of consciousness returns”_  
>  — Molly O’Neill

** Chapter 18 — The Chill of Consciousness **

“Harry, wake up, dear.”

The voice was soothing, lulling Harry into consciousness with a gentle pull. He appreciated being woken so kindly. His eyes felt gritty, his head was pounding, and he was achy and sore. He stiffened slightly as the night’s events came rushing back to him. He’d broken down in front of _everybody_. Gods, what must they _think_ of him. Some bloody _hero_ he made, whimpering and crying like an idiot. Snape probably thought he was a First Year Hufflepuff or something.

“Harry,” the voice called again, chuckling softly. It seemed to be Narcissa, which was all right. He didn’t think the Malfoy matriarch would make fun of him for crying. If so, she would’ve done so before now. He’d broken down on her shoulder a time or two while they were living in Grimmauld Place.

“I’m awake,” Harry mumbled. He started to stretch out his aching muscles and froze, desperately searching his mind for when _exactly_ he’d fallen asleep. Because his ‘bed’ seemed to be breathing. It shifted under his cheek steadily, and hot puffs of air were brushing the back of his neck, making him shiver and raising chill bumps on his arms. If he wasn’t mistaken, and he sincerely doubted he was, his ‘bed’ also had an erection which was poking him in the back of his thigh.

His eyes flew open. The first thing he saw was Narcissa. She had a delicate hand pressed to her mouth, stifling her giggles. He gulped and tilted his head back slowly, coming face to face with his Mentor’s severe features. He immediately tried to scramble from the man’s lap, but the long arms tightened around him at the first hint of movement. He let out a humiliating ‘eep’ of surprise as they squeezed the breath from him.

Narcissa lost the ability to contain her laughter. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice bubbling with merriment, “but the look on your face was rather priceless.”

“On the other hand, I’m uncertain I’ve ever seen Severus look so peaceful,” Lucius said, from somewhere near the vicinity of the doorway. Harry wasn’t certain where the aristocrat was, as he was rather too terrified to move so he could look.

“Yeah, until he wakes up,” Harry muttered, trying to keep his voice quiet.

“Well, he will not be waking for another fifteen minutes,” Narcissa assured him as she rose from where she’d been kneeling next to the chair. “I assumed you would wish to extricate yourself, so I put him under a short-term sleep spell.”

“Thank you,” Harry sighed sincerely.

“We will be in the kitchen, having breakfast, if you care to join us,” she said, sweeping from the room gracefully. Lucius dutifully followed her.

Instead of standing, Harry relaxed against Snape’s chest. Knowing the man wouldn’t wake, it was easy to give into the comfort of being held. Especially since it felt so bloody good being in Snape’s arms and wasn’t _that_ still a shock. Snape’s chest, under his cheek, was broad and warm. He could feel the strength in the arms holding him, wiry muscles tightening every so often, shifting around Harry’s shoulders. His professor was nuzzling his prodigious nose into Harry’s hair. His lips brushed Harry’s ear and Snape made a soft, contented ‘hmm’ noise. Harry sighed rather happily and was unable to keep himself from squirming against the hardness he felt near his buttock. When Snape shifted into the movement, though, Harry tensed again. The spell was keeping him asleep, but how _aware_ was Snape? Did he know he was snuggling him as if he was happy to have his very own personal Harry Potter teddy bear? 

The thought made him pry the arms open regretfully and slide from Snape’s lap. He knelt there, studying his professor for a moment. Lucius was right, he really did look peaceful. The expression, though, began to fade into a frown as Harry left his arms. Harry reached out, running his fingers down Snape’s cheek and watched the frown vanish. He smiled slightly at his sleeping professor, knowing Snape would _not_ react that way if he were awake. However, Snape frowned again as Harry started to stand.

He paused. It bothered him, seeing the familiar grimace take the place of the contented look. As he soothed him again, he was reminded of Sleeping Beauty for some reason. He wasn’t certain why; Snape was definitely not the Beauty in the story. No, Harry snorted quietly at the thought, Snape was the Prince.

The thought, though, gave him pause. He’d never quite reconciled his feelings about the Half-Blood Prince. Hermione still swore Harry had a crush on the ‘mystery’ writer. Bloody hell, even _Ron_ teased him about it. And that was _after_ they’d learned The Half Blood Prince was really Snape! Maybe there was a reason to their teasing. Did Harry have a crush on the Prince? On _Snape_!? 

The fact that Harry was actually considering kissing Snape while he slept strongly suggested that, yeah, he did. He knew he shouldn’t — Snape _might_ actually be aware of what was happening — but he doubted he’d ever get a chance like this again. The story of Sleeping Beauty niggled at the back of Harry’s mind. Would the kiss wake him like it had the Princess? The added risk actually made the prospect _more_ exciting for Harry, undoubtedly why he was a Gryffindor.

Calling himself a fool, he leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to his Professor’s. Snape’s lips were moist and soft and tasted of just a hint of mint. Harry smiled as he started to pull away. His breath left him in a startled _whoosh_ when strong arms wrapped around him. He mentally cursed, thinking he’d woken Snape up, until he realized the arms were pulling him back onto the man’s lap. Snape held him tightly, nuzzling his neck again, as he continued to languish in sleep.

Harry huffed slightly and started trying to extricate himself again. A sleeping Snape seemed to resemble a Snarfaluff. All quickly darting arms that clung almost desperately. “This might have been easier if he _wasn’t_ sleeping so soundly,” he called out in exasperation. Narcissa’s tinkling laughter was the only response.

The fifteen minute time limit was almost up when Harry scrambled into the breakfast nook looking rumpled, flushed, and rather embarrassed. He decided to eat as fast as possible and depart quickly as he could without being rude. If he was lucky, he could leave before Snape even woke.

Of course, his luck never held when he _really_ needed it. Snape strolled into the kitchen, looking completely awake and unruffled before Harry could even pour his first cup of tea.

“Potter,” he said, lowering himself gracefully into a chair, “in regards to last night-”

“I’d rather not discuss it, sir,” Harry interrupted.

Snape gave him a mild sneer and Harry waited, prepared to be mocked for breaking down. His Mentor, though, surprised him. “I believe you should, Potter, though I understand your reticence while the… betrayal is still so fresh. However, I wanted to discuss a different matter with you when I referred to our conversations of last night.”

“Oh.”

“Very eloquent.”

“I do so try.”

Snape’s lip twitched but Harry didn’t even earn a half-smile. His professor held up one slender hand and opened the fist. A silver chain with a small disc on it dangled from one of his fingers. “The charm on this necklace is commonly worn by… Practitioners of the Dark Arts. It will, to a degree, protect your mind from instability. One of the ways it does so is by ensuring you see only the truth.”

Harry must have shown his confusion because Lucius spoke up. “Illusions, Harry. Glamours, Charms, and so forth. You will be able to detect them and see through many of them.”

“Oh,” Harry said again, unable to formulate a better reply.

“I’m sure you, of all people, understand the power of numbers.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The Dark Lord did not choose the number seven arbitrarily. In… our practices, seven is used for protection while the number thirteen is used for power in rituals.”

“I understand,” Harry said, a bit hesitantly. Truthfully, he didn’t know what Snape was on about.

“I don’t believe you do, Potter,” Snape said as he stood and moved behind Harry. He started to fasten the necklace around the boy’s neck. “However, it is immaterial. The Eye of Truth, as the enchantment is called, is normally cast by the student’s teacher and Grounder, if they differ. Yours, however, holds seven enchantments. I trust you understand the depth of our concern, at least.”

Harry nodded and examined the pendant hanging around his neck. It was a simple round disk etched with a line drawing of what appeared to be a peacock feather. The hum of magic from it warmed his palm and caused his fingertips to tingle. Seven people enchanted this? He wasn’t surprised; he could feel the power of each of them imbedded in the jewelry. Snape, Madam Pomfrey, all three Malfoys… they were all rather powerful witches and wizards. However, they were also only five. “Who are the other two?” he asked, still looking at the necklace so he failed to notice the strange look crossing Snape’s face.

“My own Grounders enchanted it. Albus… and my mother.”

Harry didn’t miss the implication. As both were dead, it meant Snape had given Harry his own pendant. He gave his professor a small smile, hoping the stern man realized it did mean a lot to him. “Thank you, sir.”

“Now, be off with you. Draco returned to the dorms last night to make excuses for you, but Fifth House, I’m sure, will be in an uproar if you do not return soon.”

“All right.” Harry gave Narcissa a quick hug before turning to Snape. “Thank you,” he said again quietly. Neither held any delusions that Harry was just talking about the pendant this time. They might not discuss the comfort the Defense Master had given, but both knew it had somehow altered their relationship.

****

*************

“Harry! Where were you!? We’ve been so worried!” Hermione greeted him before he’d even sat down in the Common Room.

Harry looked from the bushy-haired girl to Draco in slight panic. “Ah… Didn’t Malfoy tell you?” he asked, unsure what Draco _had_ told them and not wanting to contradict it.

“Of course I did,” the Slytherin said haughtily. “But Granger, it seems, was going to be convinced of your untimely death regardless. I _told_ her a migraine was nothing to fret so much over. Mother gets them all the time.”

“Harry wasn’t in the Infirmary, Malfoy,” Ron snapped. “We stopped by to see him on our way to breakfast.”

“I went to Snape,” Harry said quickly.

“I told you.” Draco scowled, clearly annoyed he hadn’t been believed.

“Why did you go to the git’s?” Ron asked, face twisted in disgust. “Shouldn’t you have gone to the Infirmary instead?”

Harry shrugged. “I knew Snape could shove Potions down my throat just as easily. Besides, Pomfrey would’ve kept me _all_ day, and I was hoping we could go flying.”

The distraction worked with Ron. He immediately began talking about the try-outs he was holding for all the Houses over the upcoming week. Hermione, though, still looked suspicious. “Should you, Harry?”

Harry shrugged again. “Figure the fresh air will do me good. Besides,” he added, “when have you ever known Snape’s potions _not_ to work?”

The young witch sighed, relenting.

Ron quickly changed the talk back to Quidditch, devising a team. Unfortunately, Draco overheard and demanded to know why Weasley got to automatically be one of the captains. Snidely, Ron asked if Draco thought _he_ should be a captain. Of course, Draco said yes.

It was inevitable that the two boys quickly started arguing. Naturally, Harry was soon drug into the debate and then they started fighting about which team Harry would be on. Somewhat irritated, Harry told them both to bugger off. He would be his own team captain, he declared, ignoring their protests that there could only be two teams. Ron pointed out that almost all of Fifth House would need to play in order for there to be three teams, and it was doubtful they’d pull most of them away from their books. Neville spoke up quietly and suggested they ask if any of the Seventh Years wanted to play. Ron puffed up slightly when he said he would find the four House Captains and ask them.

Ron set off to do so, while Harry found out who was playing from Fifth House. He was surprised to realize his classmates had already overheard the argument and were declaring if they’d play or not. Several people refused, but were easily cajoled into at least coming to the pitch. It was a beautiful day, blue sky and weather warm with enough breeze to keep it from being too hot. It was the wind, though, which was an issue for some of them.

“I can’t risk my notes being blown around,” Lisa pointed out rather pragmatically. “If they get mixed up, it will take me far too long to reorganize them.”

Hermione and Terry both heartily agreed.

“I, ah, might be able to help,” Neville said a bit shyly. “I’m not really very good at it yet, but Professor Sprout has been teaching me a spell. It… it will keep the wind down around you. A bit,” he added, rather unsure of himself as always.

Hermione, though, gave an impressed gasp. “You’re learning environmental control already? Neville, that’s really advanced Herbology!”

“Professor Sprout thought I should at least try it.”

Daphne spoke up for the first time, giving the Gryffindor boy an assessing look. “Because you’re a Green Man, you are a natural Elementalist.”

Neville’s lack of confidence was left behind in his excitement over his subject. “I haven’t _conjured_ the Elements,” he said quickly, “but being an Elementalist means I have better control at manipulating them. I work best with Earth. I’m still not very good with the other elements,” he added humbly.

Humble or not, everyone was suitably impressed when he settled down next to the study group and stopped the wind blowing with nothing more than a short incantation. Unlike the others stretched out on the grass near the pitch, Neville wasn’t studying. Instead, his eyes stayed glued on the strange three-sided Quidditch match.

They’d been out there for little more than an hour when Hermione left her books and plunked herself down next to her fellow Gryffindor. “I’m glad you talked us into this, Neville. It has been a relaxing day.”

Neville glanced at the large pile of books and parchment Hermione had abandoned skeptically. The witch noticed his expression and laughed. “I would’ve been studying regardless.” She gestured toward the rest of the group. “But it wouldn’t have been nearly as nice if you hadn’t offered this.”

Silently, Neville agreed. All of Fifth House, and a large portion of the Seventh Years, had converged on the outdoors. Many of them were playing Quidditch, but the majority were studying, gossiping in groups or simply enjoying their time in the sun. Still, Neville was embarrassed by the attention and didn’t want to take credit for the fun. “Have you been watching the game?” he asked as a diversion before Hermione could praise him more.

“Not really.”

“It’s interesting. Harry made his team completely out of Seekers and Beaters. I guess he plans to get all his points by catching the snitch. Ron is a strong Keeper and he’s using Ginny as Seeker; she’s the only Seeker I know of, other than possibly Malfoy, who would have a chance against Harry. Malfoy, though, is a bit of a surprise. Who knew he really wanted to play Chaser.” He was good, too, Neville silently added. Once Malfoy got the quaffle, he used the flying skills he’d learned chasing the snitch to dodge bludgers and fly into the goals fast. Having made a team of mostly Chasers, he was wearing Ron out quite quickly. Granted, Ron’s own Chasers were scoring well, but that was mainly because Malfoy’s Keeper was rather weak.

Hermione was watching Neville curiously. “I didn’t know you liked Quidditch,” she said after a moment.

“I _hate_ flying, but I enjoy watching the games.”

The witch’s lips tilted up slightly in amusement. “Do you enjoy watching the games or _her_?” she asked conspiratorially.

Neville blanched. “W-what?”

“I knew the two of you were close during the last year of the war, but I wasn’t certain how close.” The silent ‘ _until now_ ’ was heard by both of them.

“I’ve liked her since the Yule Ball,” Neville admitted, blushing furiously. “But I knew I never had a chance.”

Hermione wanted to ask ‘ _Why not_?’ but it seemed too personal. Plus, she knew why; for far too long Ginny Weasley only had eyes for Harry Potter. Hermione expected, though, that had changed some time ago. Perhaps even as soon as they’d gotten together. After all, the imagination could be far more pleasing than reality. “Is that when you started liking Quidditch?” she asked instead, teasing the still blushing boy. “It’s around when Gin started playing, isn’t it? After Harry was banned by Umbridge?”

Neville gave a slight nod, eyes never leaving the sky. “I knew it interested her. I wanted to understand. I’m surprised you never took more of an interest, what with Ron being so enthusiastic and all.”

Hermione snorted rather derisively. “As if Ron would ever read a book just because it interested _me_.”

The words came out sharper than she intended. Neville turned from the match to look at her, eyes full of surprise and curiosity. “It bothers you, doesn’t it?”

Hermione glanced away, not wanting her expression examined so closely. “When did you become so observant, Neville?”

“I’ve always watched people.” He gave a small shrug. “I guess I got better at it, having to be so careful during my last year here.”

“Did you ever watch Snape? When he was Headmaster, I mean.” The question was partially intended to turn the conversation away from her and Ron’s relationship. She _was_ curious, though, what the Gryffindor had seen in regards to his formally most-feared Professor. “Harry insists Snape was simply playing his role as a spy, but… did you notice?” she added unnecessarily. 

“Snape looked at the students with the same loathing he always did,” Neville answered flatly. “The same as the Carrows or any of the other Death Eaters.” Neville shifted his eyes upwards again. This time, Hermione didn’t think it was just to watch the game. Neville was lying.

“But?” she prompted.

“Who were _you_ to call _me_ observant?”

Hermione laughed softly. “I’m worried about Harry,” she admitted. “He’s rather insistent that Snape is different; he says we never really knew him. I’m scared he’s gotten his hopes up about it and is going to be hurt when he sees Snape is still the petty and cruel man who tormented us for so many years.”

Neville looked at her, choosing his words carefully. “The Death Eaters were especially rough on students who were Blood Traitors,” he said softly. “You could see it, in their eyes; the Carrows wanted to kill us, but they wanted us to suffer first.”

“And Professor Snape?”

“Snape always had a look of hatred, too, but it was different. It wasn’t _actually_ directed at us. It was directed inward.”

“That’s a bit of a distinction, Neville. Are you sure? Maybe you just remember it that way because of Harry’s testimony.”

“I didn’t understand what I was seeing until Harry said Snape was on our side all along. But I _had_ seen it. Trust me, Hermione, I know what self-loathing looks like.”

Hermione wanted to hug the boy, but she’d been friends with Harry and Ron long enough to know it would be mistaken for pity. Instead, she stayed quiet, her eyes following his to the red-haired Seeker. “You should ask her out,” she said after a long silence.

“She just broke up with _Harry Potter_. Why would she date me?” His tone wasn’t bitter, but the small smile accompanying the words was clearly self-deprecatory. 

“ _She_ broke up with _him_ ,” Hermione pointed out.

“I figured she was just trying to get his attention or something, since he was too busy to spend much time with her when school first started back up.”

“Neville,” Hermione hesitated, trying to best figure out what to say. She didn’t want to betray any confidences, but she wanted her friends to be happy. “Harry’s been… distant, from all of us, since the war. We sort of got rather used to it. It never bothered Ginny until we came back to Hogwarts.”

“Why?”

“After the final battle, everyone assumed Harry and Ginny would get back together. So they did. But… I don’t know if either of them thought about whether they _wanted_ to.” Hermione paused, chewing her lip. “Ginny didn’t _care_ that Harry didn’t pay much attention to her. Until we came back here and she started talking to you more.”

“What are you saying, Hermione?”

He was tense, as if Hermione were accusing him of causing her friends to break up. In a way, he was right, but she wasn’t _mad_ at Neville about it. After all, she _did_ want her friends happy. “ _You_ made Ginny realize what was missing from her relationship, Neville. Which is why I’m fairly sure she’ll say yes if you ask her out. She likes you. I believe she has for a while.”

Neville grew quiet, obviously thinking. His eyes never strayed from the red-headed Seeker until the game ended.

****

*************

They were all laughing and sweaty when the match broke up. Harry’s team had lost, but just barely. It had taken him a bit too long to catch the snitch. Draco’s _five_ Chasers had managed to score twelve goals, though Ron had probably saved twice as many, unlike Draco’s Keeper who had only caught maybe one in three. And that was being kind!

“ _Please_ tell me he’s not the Slytherin Keeper,” Draco pleaded, blatantly pointing the boy out.

Ron snorted. “Not even close. I think he’s dating the captain’s best friend. Though if Marysia, his girlfriend, comes for try-outs she’s a sure in for Chaser.”

“She _was_ good,” Harry admitted. “She nearly got one by you.”

“She’s not _that_ good,” Ron laughed, puffing up his chest proudly.

“Thanks, Weasel. I’ll consider that a compliment. How many was it I got passed you again?”

“Shut it, Malfoy.”

Harry couldn’t help but grin. Draco and Ron might never _like_ each other, but it was nice to hear the lack of venom in their insults.

The red-head gave them both a jaunty wave before jogging over to his girlfriend. A second later, Harry heard Hermione squeal. “Get off me, Ronald! You’re all sweaty. It’s disgusting.” Harry watched as Ron, still grinning, released Hermione from the bear hug and hurried off for the showers.

“I don’t understand those two,” Draco stated. His voice was an odd mixture of confusion, amusement, and disgust.

“They’ve been like that since First Year. You get used to it.”

“I’d rather not, thank you very much,” Draco replied snottily. His pointed nose even raised in the air slightly, making Harry snicker.

“Hey, Harry, can I talk to you alone for a moment?”

Harry turned, slightly startled. Not because Neville was asking to speak to him privately, but because he had sounded like the timid boy he’d once been and not the confident wizard Harry knew he’d become.

“Sure, Nev,” he said easily. “Just give me a sec.” He turned back to Draco. “Go on up without me. If you see Ron, tell him I’m skipping lunch in exchange for a nice _long_ shower.”

“Sorry, Potter, but I’m not your errand boy. Besides, the Weasel is using _public_ showers. I’m not going in there.” Draco shuddered dramatically as he wandered off.

“So,” Harry said uncomfortably a minute later. “What’s up?” Neville, he couldn’t help but notice, was rather anxious. It was making Harry tense.

“I, ah, wanted to ask you… well, er, I guess it’s more like I thought I _should_ ask you…”

The boy had gone pale. Harry noticed Neville had a small scar along his cheek that stood out against the pallor. “It can’t be all that bad, Neville,” Harry said, trying to be reassuring, “Just spit it out.”

“I wanna ask Ginny to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend,” Neville said in a rush. His words ran together enough that it took Harry a second to decipher them.

“Um… shouldn’t you be asking _her_ then?”

“You’re my friend, Harry, and I know you two just broke up rather recently. If it bothers you I can… wait or something.”

Harry thought about it for a moment. _Did_ it bother him? He knew it _should_ , but he wasn’t certain it actually did. He cared about Ginny. Quite a lot, truthfully. He wanted her to be happy. But he knew he didn’t have it in him — not anymore, at least — to make her happy. But Neville was a good guy….

The pause seemed to be making the other boy even more nervous, but Harry wanted to be able to answer honestly. “It’s not my call just because I’m her ex,” he said finally. “Talk to Gin about it. But… I won’t let it get in the way of _our_ friendship.”

A weight seemed to lift from Neville’s shoulders. “Thanks, Harry,” he said rather happily. Neville ran off quickly, surrounded by an air of excitement and anxiety. Harry had no doubt he was going to seek Ginny out immediately. He silently wished him luck, which felt a bit strange, but he didn’t want Neville getting hurt.

“Did you mean it?” 

Harry jumped, having no idea Ron had come up behind him. The red-head’s hair was still dripping from the showers, stained a darker color by the water. For a moment, he didn’t look like the boy Harry had been best friends with for so many years. Then, the corner of Ron’s mouth twisted up in a wry grin and the moment passed.

“You sure you’re not pulling his leg, mate?”

“Why would I lie?”

“Don’t know. I’m not too sure _why_ you lie about half the stuff these days, Harry.”

Harry took a step back, startled, but Ron’s tone wasn’t accusatory. He was stating a simple fact. Still, Harry denied it. “I don’t know what you’re on about, Ron.”

“Don’t give me that shite, Har’. You might’ve pulled one over on Hermione this morning, but I’m not that thick.” Ron cringed. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

“I _was_ with Snape,” Harry insisted.

“Maybe you were, but _not_ because you had a headache.” Ron seemed completely certain of what he was saying. Harry wondered how. Apparently, Ron read the question in his eyes. “How long have we been roommates, Harry?” he asked.

“On and off since we were eleven.”

Ron chuckled. “I didn’t feel like doing the math either. But the point is… it’s been a bloody long time. And you _always_ woke me up if your scar was hurting or even if you were in pain from a rough Quidditch practice.”

‘ _Almost always_ ,’ Harry amended silently. “All right,” he admitted, “I didn’t go down to the dungeons because of a migraine. There was something I needed to discuss with Snape and the Malfoys.”

“Because you trust _them_ more than _me_ ,” Ron said firmly.

“No!”

“Can’t say I blame you for that too much, mate. I’m the one who walked out of the tent.”

“That wasn’t your fault! It was the Horcrux doing it to you. How many times do we need to remind you of that?”

“You have regrets, don’t you Harry?”

Fred, Remus, Tonks, Sirius, Cedric, Colin, Moody, Hedwig… The litany of the dead marched through Harry’s thoughts, pulling on him, draining him. “You know I do,” he said softly.

“Does it ever work for you when we tell you to stop blaming yourself?”

“No.”

“Then don’t expect me to be any different. I have as much right to hold onto my guilt as you.”

Harry supposed it was fair. But Ron’s guilt made him doubt their friendship, which Harry hated. Though, if he were being honest with himself, Harry knew the secrets he’d been keeping from all of them probably raised an equal amount of doubt in his friend’s mind.

“Come on,” Harry said suddenly, turning away from the castle. “Let’s go somewhere private.” His feet automatically turned toward the Forbidden Forest, toward _his_ clearing. He didn’t say anything until he was seated in his spot, though Ron asked several times where they were going.

“Did you ever tell Hermione about destroying the locket?” he asked rather suddenly. 

Ron paled and looked away. “No.”

“Neither did I. You two never told me what happened with the cup.”

If possible, Ron got even paler. “It was… awful.”

“Some of the stuff we went through… it’s so bloody hard to talk about with someone who wasn’t there. Someone who didn’t go through it with us.”

“I know.”

“I don’t trust you any less for not telling me what happened in the Chamber with Hermione. I don’t think you are keeping secrets; I know it is just too hard to talk about.”

“But _they_ were there,” Ron concluded. Harry gave a terse nod. Ron frowned in thought. Harry remained quiet and let his friend work through it on his own. “You testified at the Malfoys trial that V-Voldemort thought he hit you with the Killing Curse. But Narcissa lied for you, told him you were dead even though it missed. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

“I can’t…” Harry paused and amended his words. “I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

“Then why bring me out here?”

It was a good question; one whose answer Harry wasn’t altogether certain of. Why _had_ he brought Ron to the clearing if not to talk about what happened there? Harry shrugged. Perhaps he was ready after all.

He reached into the pocket of his robe and closed his fingers around a familiar smooth ball. He’d taken to carrying it with him, almost as a strange good luck token. Pulling it out, he tossed it to Ron. His friend caught it easily and looked at it.

“I open at the close,” he read off the snitch. “We never did figure out what Dumbledore meant by that.”

“I did,” Harry admitted. “Because of what I saw in Snape’s memories. It’s a hint, for the password.”

“A password?” Ron’s eyebrows shot to his hairline.

Harry leaned over to his friend, but he spoke to the snitch. “I am about to die,” he said quietly. The ball broke open in Ron’s hand. “I didn’t _almost_ get hit by Voldemort’s Killing Curse. I walked into it on purpose. I _let_ him kill me. It was the only way to destroy the final Horcrux. The one in me.” Ron was completely ashen; his freckles standing out in livid contrast to his pale cheeks. But Harry couldn’t seem to stop talking. The floodgates had opened. “Narcissa saw it happen. She _knew_ what I was but she covered for me. Both with Voldemort when it happened and with everyone else afterwards. ‘ _He will mark him as his equal_ ,’ the Prophecy said. It had nothing to do with power. We both had one-eighth of his soul.”

“Harry-“

But he couldn’t stop there. “Dumbledore had the Resurrection Stone. He put it in the snitch. I used the stone as I was walking here. I saw my parents. Remus and Sirius. I thought Dumbledore left it to me for that reason. So I could have a bit of comfort before I died. But… well, Dumbledore always had a plan, didn’t he? I had all three Hallows at that point.”

“Master of Death,” Ron whispered.

Harry nodded. “I died, right where you are sitting.”

Almost unconsciously, Ron shifted from the spot. Despite the serious situation, it made Harry laugh. It was such a _Ron_ thing to do.

“You kept them, didn’t you?” Ron asked. He still looked rather shaken, but the pieces were clicking together in his brilliantly strategic mind. “In the Shrieking Shack… Hermione and I were certain Snape was dead. _You_ said we were wrong. We weren’t, were we? You brought him back.”

“You can’t tell _anybody_ , Ron.”

“The Malfoys know, though, right?”

Harry nodded. “Snape told them. But they don’t know, not for certain, that I have the Deathly Hallows. They do know about,” Harry gestured toward his scar.

“I’m glad but a bit surprised. Why _didn’t_ you tell them about the Hallows? If I were them, I’d be a might curious about how you… didn’t die.” Apparently, saying ‘ _came back to life_ ’ was just a bit too weird for Ron.

Harry shrugged. “I might be more willing to tell them now, since I trust them a bit more. But I didn’t really fancy Lucius Malfoy knowing I owned the most powerful wand in the world.”

“Can’t say I blame you, mate. But,” Ron was frowning, “you really trust _Snape_ knowing?”

“Yeah, Ron, I do.”

“You don’t think he’ll want them for himself?”

“I thought he would want to use the Resurrection Stone, at least.” Harry shrugged. “But he hasn’t asked yet.”

“You’d let him?”

“Yeah. I’d let you, too.” Harry grinned suddenly. “It’s been kind of nice having it. I talked to my dad about Ginny before we broke up. I got a lecture and everything!”

Ron shook his head over his friends’ enthusiasm. “I bet Snape just loves knowing you can summon James Potter at any time.”

“We haven’t really talked about it,” Harry said with a shrug.

“What _are_ you talking to him about? I mean, why was last night so important?”

Harry hesitated. In for a knut, he decided, in for a galleon. “What I’m doing with the Hallows — resurrecting the dead, summoning spirits — it’s a form of Necromancy, Ron. Dark Magic. Snape… he’s making sure I don’t get in over my head.” It was a simplified explanation, but it was at least _near_ the truth.

“ _Merlin_.” Any color Ron had regained vanished.

“I’m still _me_ , though. I mean, it isn’t going to turn me into Voldemort or anything.”

Ron snorted. “Doubt it could, Harry. You’ve had that bastard in your head. Literally! If _that_ didn’t turn you evil, I don’t think anything could. I mean, look what his soul did to the Horcruxes. The other Horcruxes, I guess. I cringed just getting _near_ them. But you… you weren’t Dark at all.”

“Technically, Ron, I am. I’m using _Necromancy_. I _am_ a Dark Wizard.”

“There’s a difference, mate, between being Dark and… well, _being Dark_. Don’t ask me to explain it; I don’t think I can.”

Harry felt better than he had in a long time. Only Ron would so casually notice what Harry had missed; the Horcrux _hadn’t_ changed him. He’d been so _scared_ at the lack of affect it had on him, he’d never thought to consider it a _good_ sign. “Are we cool?” he asked his best friend, only slightly nervous over the answer.

“We’re good,” Ron said immediately. “Only… next time I want to know your secrets, Harry, tell me to bugger off. I don’t think I can handle much more.”

“Need me to _Obliviate_ you?”

Ron laughed as Harry had hoped. “I’m not _that_ freaked.”

Harry gave his best friend a hand up and they started their trek back to the castle. Ron rather casually threw his arm over Harry’s shoulders. It felt good, knowing he still had Ron’s support. However, as they neared the edge of the trees Ron stopped walking. ”I need you to promise me something, Harry,” he said nervously.

“I’m not going to become a Dark Lord,” Harry said immediately.

Ron gave him a mildly amused look. “Good to hear it, mate. Guess that means I can hold you to your word when you promise me something.”

“Sorry.” Harry blushed. “Ah… reflex, I guess.”

“You’ve got some strange reflexes, Har’.”

“Probably.”

“So… will you make me a promise?”

“Ron, I’ve been dealing with Slytherins too much lately. Tell me what you need and _then_ I will make you a promise.”

“Don’t tell George about the Hallows. I don’t want him to end up… like the story, you know?”

Ron didn’t need to clarify. Every time Harry used the Hallows, or thought about letting someone else use them, he worried. He had no intention of letting anyone succumb to the fate of the Three Brothers.

*****************


	19. Life's Unquiet Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry decides he isn’t the only one that needs to learn acceptance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> _Thy light alone—like mist o’er mountains driven,_  
>  Or music by the night-wind sent  
>  Through strings of some still instrument,  
>  Or moonlight on a midnight stream,   
>  Gives grace and truth to life’s unquiet dream.  
> -Percy Bysshe Shelly, “Hymn to Intellectual Beauty.”

** Chapter 19 — Life’s Unquiet Dream **

“Would you like to use the Resurrection Stone?” Harry asked as soon as he walked into Snape’s quarters a few days later. He had been thinking about it since his conversation with Ron. Snape, he decided, was one person he thought deserved to benefit from the Hallows, and he didn't fear too much for his safety.

“Pardon?”

"I kept expecting you to ask, but you didn’t. I thought I should offer. If you want to use it, you know, it would be all right with me.”

Snape finally sat down his book and regarded Harry for a long silent moment. “I doubt it is wise, Potter. I am familiar with the legend of the Deathly Hallows.”

“I think you could overcome the inherent traps in them, Professor. You have willpower to spare.” Harry flashed a cheeky grin.

Emotion swam in Snape’s dark eyes. Fear, gratitude, and something almost hungry that Harry couldn’t quite name. It was almost… longing.

“I thank you for the offer, but I must decline.” The sadness and regret in his rich voice was all Harry needed to hear to know he’d insist.

“I think you should, Professor. I think you need to.”

He wasn’t expecting the anger that twisted his Mentor’s face. “You think you could _possibly_ understand what _I_ need, Potter.” His name was spat like the vilest of curses. “You arrogant boy! What could _you_ possible know-“

“I know more than you give me credit for, sir.” Harry interrupted. He was calm, as though untouched by Snape’s venom. After all these years, he’d finally begun to understand this man. “For example,” he said quietly, “I know you aren’t yelling at me because you’re angry. You’re lashing out because you’re scared. I do that, too,” he added the last even softer, having just recognized it himself. Perhaps that was why, he realized, he’d always clashed with Snape. And perhaps that was also why he understood the older wizard so easily now. They truly were quite similar. “I know that the _only_ thing you want is forgiveness,” he said in a mere whisper, “but you can’t get it from _this_ world.”

Harry had seen Snape’s anger flash up suddenly and brightly on many occasions. He’d never witnessed it leave the man so quickly before. Snape seemed to fold in on himself; he suddenly looked incredibly vulnerable.

“I have loved and lost four people in my lifetime, Potter, and I’m directly responsible for the deaths of three of them. What do you believe I could possibly learn from that Stone of yours?”

“Acceptance.” Harry placed the Resurrection Stone on Snape’s desk carefully. “Use it if you want to, sir. I will be back in thirty minutes.” Longer than that, he knew, and any spirit called would begin to grow cold. 

Harry didn’t want to return to his dorm for such a short period of time, and he was too tense to visit the Malfoys. Plus, he didn’t want to explain to them why he was killing time before returning to Snape’s quarters. So he walked around the dungeons, talking to the snake ornaments. Sal told him there _were_ more secret passageways guarded by Parseltongue, but had refused to tell Harry _where_ they were. So he wandered aimlessly, searching. He found one, which seemed to lead to the Library, before it was time to go back.

His knock on Snape’s door went unanswered, so he simply bypassed the protective spells by asking the snake guardian to let him in. He doubted Snape would appreciate knowing Harry could enter his chambers at any time, but he wasn’t going to let his Mentor go mad.

“Sir?” he called out and received no response. “Professor?” he yelled again. He grew worried as he made his way through the outer office into Snape’s main rooms. He found him in the sitting room. Snape was sitting on the sofa with his head bowed. The Stone rest harmlessly between his feet. Harry took a few hesitant steps forward. Snape’s shoulders were shaking slightly. Harry watched a few drops of moisture fall onto the backs of Snape’s elegant hands and his heart broke. Snape was so strong; Harry didn’t expect to see him crying. He’d seen it once, in Snape’s memories, and was still haunted by the breakdown of such a proud man. He had no wish to see him so broken again.

“Sir?” Harry said quietly as he sat down on the couch next to him. “Are you okay?” he tugged on Snape’s arm gently, trying to force him to look at Harry.

“She forgave me,” Snape whispered.

Harry smiled in spite of the misery he heard in Snape’s voice. “Of course she did,” Harry said. “Mum loves you.”

The broad shoulders shook even harder. Harry knelt up on the sofa cushions and wrapped his arms around Snape’s trembling form. “Shh,” he murmured. “It’s all right now,” he said, knowing he was just giving platitudes. “You earned her forgiveness, Professor. You worked hard for it. Let it go, now. Forgive yourself.” 

He continued to whisper soft words, not knowing if Snape could even hear him.

 

****

*************

“Ah, hell,” Harry muttered upon waking. Once again, it seemed, he’d fallen asleep in Snape’s arms. This time, though, it didn’t appear he would be able to untangle himself without notice. For starters, Narcissa wasn’t around to spell Snape asleep. Even more problematic was the fact that Snape was asleep _on top_ of Harry; he was nestled snuggly in between Harry’s legs, arms wrapped tightly around his waist, with his head pillowed on Harry’s thin chest.

Harry remembered holding his professor while he cried, but had no recollection of dozing off. Snape was _not_ going to be happy. He was going to be mad enough that Harry saw him upset, but to wake up _cuddling_ … he was going to be furious!

After about twenty minutes, Harry decided there was nothing to be gained by waiting. He gently shook Snape’s shoulder. It didn’t garner the reaction he’d expected; Snape let out a rather contented sigh and nuzzled his face into Harry’s neck. He shook him harder, murmuring, “Come on, Snape, wake up.” Snape seemed to squirm impossibly closer. Harry felt lips graze his jaw and jerked in response. Even worse, his body — already quite happy with waking up pressed against someone — was definitely taking notice. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “As if he wasn’t going to kill me already, let’s just make it worse and get turned on by the git.”

Harry froze as a deep chuckle vibrated along his shoulder. How long had Snape been awake!? “Brilliant, Harry,” he chastised himself out loud. “Now you woke him up by _announcing_ the fact, just in case he _hadn’t_ noticed.”

Snape roared with laughter as he sat up and moved away, though Harry’s leg was still trapped in between Snape’s back and the couch. Despite his nerves, Harry couldn’t help but grin as he watched Snape wipe his eyes, still chuckling softly.

‘ _Ten points to Potter_ ,’ he thought, knowing the hourglass in his pocket would register it even if he hadn’t said it aloud. 

“Relax, Potter,” Snape finally said, getting himself under control. “I am _not_ going to kill you.”

“Good to know, sir.”

“Though I am curious how-” Snape broke off and merely gestured vaguely at the two of them and the couch.

“No idea, sir, but we seem to be making a bit of a habit out of it.”

“Indeed.”

“I, ah, should head back to the dorm,” Harry said quickly, trying to cover the fact that he’d just mentioned them sleeping together another time that Snape _didn’t_ know about. “I don’t think it’s too much past curfew yet. We didn’t sleep for long.”

“Very well.” Snape stood gracefully. He brushed a long, pale hand down his robes, though Harry noticed they didn’t seem to have wrinkled. Harry scrambled to his feet clumsily and looked at his own disheveled robes before deciding it was hopeless.

“Potter,” Snape said, putting considerable distance between himself and Harry, “I will not require your assistance in class tomorrow.”

“W-what?” Harry stammered. He wondered if Snape would _always_ turn distant and cold after they opened up to each other.

“Your second set of textbooks should arrive tomorrow. I would like you to come here so you can spend the afternoon getting acquainted with Dark Theory.”

“Oh.” Harry smiled. “All right, sir.” He heard the faint note of dismissal in Snape’s voice and moved toward the door. “Good night, Professor.”

“Good night, Harry. Sleep well.” Harry was almost all the way out the door when he added, “I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.” Harry’s bark of laughter echoed through the dark dungeon corridors. He quickly stifled the loud laughter, but he was still giggling as he let himself into the Fifth House dormitory.

“Well, someone got shagged.” Draco’s amused drawl stopped Harry in his tracks.

“What!?” he exclaimed in shock.

“Oh, come off it, Potter. Did you even bother looking at yourself in the mirror afterward?” Draco made a show of looking Harry up and down slowly. “Your clothes are rumpled, your hair is even worse than normal -- which frankly I didn’t know was possible -- and you’re flushed and grinning like a loon. _You_ got laid.”

“I-I didn’t,” Harry denied. He glanced around the Common Room and was glad to find it remarkably empty. Only Terry remained, and he was snoring loudly at the corner table with his head pillowed on a text book. The Founder’s Portraits, unfortunately, all seemed to be awake and listening intently. “I was with Snape,” Harry added, knowing the excuse sounded lame. It was made worse by the deep blush he wore.

Draco smirked. “I should’ve known you were Severus’ type. He tends to like the waifish sort. And if you grew your hair out and got rid of those hideous glasses, you’d be almost pretty.”

“Malfoy, it wasn’t - we weren’t-”

“And, of course, Sev _does_ prefer blokes.”

“We - wait… really? He prefers blokes?”

Draco grinned even wider. “I notice _that_ got your attention, Potter.”

“Let my genuine surprise be your clue that _nothing happened_ ,” Harry snarled, causing Draco to laugh.

“Why do you look shagged out, then?”

Harry collapsed onto the couch. “Fell asleep,” he grumbled.

“I’m surprised Severus didn’t wake you before curfew.”

Harry blushed. Draco’s eyebrows shot up in shock. “All right, Potter. Spill.”

“No.”

“ _Please_ ,” Draco whined.

“Anything I tell you will make it straight back to your parents. Then Lucius will tease Snape who will, in turn, kill me.”

“I give my word as a Malfoy, I won’t say anything.”

Harry scoffed. “Being a _Malfoy_ is what makes you tell them everything.”

“All right. My word as a Slytherin.”

“I will accept your oath, young Dragon,” Salazar said with a smirk. Harry grinned when Draco paled.

“Thanks, Sal.”

“No trouble at all, Mr. Potter. Though I find myself curious as well about what caused such a delightful blush. You and my Head of House, hmm?”

“Bugger,” Harry cursed. Between Malfoy and Salazar, he’d never get away with not answering. He gave a dramatic sigh. “Fine, I’ll spill, but nothing happened.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself, Potter?” Draco asked with amusement.

“Do you remember what happened the other night?” Harry asked, touching his pendant through his shirt as a sign to Draco which night he was referring to.

“You were rather distraught,” Draco remarked almost casually. “Understandably so.”

“Yeah, well, do you remember how I fell asleep?”

Draco snickered. “Mother said she left you two that way until morning. She was rather pleased by how peacefully you slept. I think she was a bit worried you would have one of your nightmares. Personally, I think it would’ve been rather funny if Severus woke to you sitting on his lap screaming.”

“Ha-bloody-ha.”

“What brought it up now?” Draco asked seriously, though he didn’t suppress his grin at all.

“Tonight was… similar.” At Draco’s questioning eyebrow, Harry relented. “Except Snape was the one upset. I don’t know how it happened, but I woke up sprawled on his couch with Snape sleeping on top of me.”

Draco snorted but managed to contain his amusement. “What was Severus upset about?”

“We were just talking,” Harry said vaguely.

“Must’ve been some intense conversation, Potter. Severus doesn’t like showing emotion.”

“Really, Malfoy? I hadn’t noticed.”

Draco ignored the sarcasm. “Actually, it is a bit of a compliment. He must trust you. In all the years he’s been associated with my family, I think he’s only broken down to Mother a few times.”

“He said trust is essential to my studies.”

“What were you talking about?”

“People we loved, who died,” Harry said casually.

“Your mother,” Draco stated bluntly.

“Y-you know?” Harry asked in surprise. “About my mum? And Snape?”

“Of course, the death of Lily Evans was a defining moment in my godfather’s life.”

“Oh.”

“Guess that’s something else you two have in common, huh?”

“Guess so.” Harry hesitated before plucking up his courage. All jokes aside, Snape really would kill him if he knew Harry was talking about this. “Can I ask you a question, Malfoy?”

“Sure.”

“It’s rather personal. About Snape.”

“I assumed as much.”

“He told me he’d loved and lost four people during his life. I know one of them is _my_ mum, another is _his_ mum. I figure the third is Dumbledore. But… do you know who the fourth is?”

Draco thought about it before shaking his head. “I haven’t a clue.”

“He said he was directly responsible for their death.”

“Oh?” A moment later Draco added a much more enthusiastic, “Oh!”

“You know?” Harry deduced. 

“I have a guess.” Draco looked like he _really_ didn’t want Harry to ask what the guess was. Of course, Harry did.

“Will you just tell me already?” Harry growled in frustration.

“Potter, you know my godfather is a very private person.”

“Yeah.”

“He doesn’t… he doesn’t share himself easily.”

“ _Obviously_.” Draco looked at him startled, and Harry didn’t know why until he examined what he’d just said. It had sounded remarkably like the man in question. “Sorry,” Harry apologized. “Guess he’s rubbing off on me.”

“And here I thought you said you weren’t getting any.”

“ _Malfoy_ ,” Harry growled. Unfortunately, he couldn't help but blush again.

“Fine, Potter.” Draco relented, smirking slightly. “I suspect Severus wouldn’t be swayed by promises of money and power like Father was. I suspect he once… cared for the Dark Lord. Probably a great deal.”

Harry felt sick, though it was _not_ because Snape might’ve once _loved_ Tom Riddle; Harry had met the younger version of the snake-faced bastard and knew Riddle was once handsome and charming, not to mention intelligent. However, his heart broke for Snape. He’d loved four people. Eileen Prince, who’d stood by and watched while Tobias Snape beat their son. Lily Evans, who abandoned years of friendship to marry Snape’s enemy. Albus Dumbledore, who forced Snape to kill him, thus setting Snape up to die himself. And Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, who knew nothing of love and had no remorse for killing the man who’d once been devoted to him.

Was it any wonder Snape was bitter and distrustful of the gentler human emotions?

Never before — even after all the memories they’d shared — had Harry felt such _pity_ for Severus Snape. He didn’t like that he did so now. His mind heavy, he told Draco good-night and trudged up to bed. Sleep was a long time coming. His thoughts tossed and turned as much as his body that night.

 

****

*************

The dream began as it usually did. Through the shimmering veil of the Invisibility Cloak, the clearing shone an unnatural, sickly green. It felt like a reflection of the Killing Curse cast so many hours before, though Harry knew it was simply the early morning light shining through the leaves. In truth, the clearing was unremarkable, indistinguishable from any other clearing in the Forbidden Forest. There was no blood, no scorched earth. Nothing to mark this spot as the place Harry Potter fell.

Harry stared at the place he’d lain as he twisted the stone through his fingers. It was nothing but packed brown earth with little tufts of grass the color of _Avada Kedavra_. Again, nothing special about the spot. Nothing to paint it as significant. Except, of course, for Harry’s memories of it.

Harry automatically closed his eyes against the shimmer of light signifying the Stone’s activation. However, he didn’t need to see to recognize the wizard who softly said, “You did well, my boy.”

Harry opened his eyes and stared at the semitransparent visage of Albus Dumbledore. “I didn’t, Professor,” he said sadly. “People died. Good people.”

“Such is the way of war, Harry.”

“P-professor Snape… I didn’t save him.”

“Ah, yes. Well, some sacrifices must be made.”

Harry went cold at the Headmaster’s indifferent tone. “B-but, sir! After everything he did…”

“Yes. After everything he did, my boy, you didn’t honestly believe I expected him to _live_ , did you?”

“No! That’s not true! You loved him!”

Dumbledore seemed to scoff at the notion. “Is that what you truly think, Harry? That I would lower myself to _love_ a Dark Wizard?”

“You did! You loved Grindelwald! You told me you did!”

“A flaw of character from my youth which I managed to rectify.”

“That’s not true!”

“Severus was a useful tool, nothing more. I didn’t love him anymore than I could love you.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see the hard blue eyes staring at him over the half-moon spectacles. His fists were clenched. He felt the Stone digging into his palm. “Shut up!” he yelled. “You’re lying! You loved him! You loved me!”

“ _Love_.” The single word dripped with scorn. Dreading what he’d seen, Harry opened his eyes and looked upon the specter of Lord Voldemort in all his serpentine glory. “What a useless emotion, love is.”

“It was powerful enough to beat you, Riddle,” Harry said with a furious scowl.

“You died for love, Harry Potter. As did your Mudblood of a mother. What good does _love_ do but bring death to those around you?”

_Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred, Moody, Colin, Cedric…_

“Stop it!” Harry screamed, as much at his own grief as he did at Voldemort. “Love is the most powerful thing in the world!”

“It is pathetic. What use does one such as I have for love?”

“You wouldn’t be _dead_. If you knew what love felt like, you’d never have killed my mum!”

“Ah, yes, because he loved her. The Traitor. He begged so sweetly for me to spare her. Yet, I was stronger. I killed them both.”

“And you _lost_.” The triumph and anger were clear in Harry’s voice. “You are a fool, Tom Riddle. With him by your side, you could’ve been great.”

The spirit morphed, shifted and melted into the image of Tom Riddle that Harry had met in the Chamber of Secrets. “I didn’t need the love of traitorous _filth_ such as Severus Snape to prove my greatness. _I am Lord Voldemort_!”

“You _were_ , Riddle. Now you’re nothing more than a dead man. Love defeated you!”

“And it can save him.”

Harry blinked back his tears, seeing Lily Evans standing where Tom Riddle had been only a moment before. “Mum?” he whispered.

“You already saved him once. You can do so again.”

She laid a cold hand on his cheek before she, and the dream, faded away.

 

****

*************

“Har! Harry! Wake up!”

Harry blinked his eyes open quickly and stopped struggling against the hands shaking him. “Ron?” he asked, trying to comprehend the blurry image of his best friend. He fumbled around until he was able to grab his glasses off the nightstand.

“You were shouting, mate.”

“Bad dream,” Harry explained simply.

“I hadn’t heard this one before. Was it new?”

“Sort of. Old theme, new horrors.” Ron sat down on the edge of Harry’s bed, silently offering to listen if Harry wished to talk. Harry appreciated the support, but didn’t feel up to a discussion about his nightmare. Not with Ron, at least.

He sat up enough that he could rummage around in his bedside drawer. His hand closed around a familiar box he’d hidden in there only hours before. “Go on back to bed, Ron,” he told his friend. “I don’t think I’m going to get much more sleep. I’m just going to jump in the shower or something. Thanks for waking me, though.”

Ron nodded, yawning widely. “No problem, mate. Wake me if you need me.”

Harry slipped into the lavatory that connected his room to Draco and Zabini’s. He would rather Malfoy walk in on him doing this than try to explain to Neville or Wayne why he was sitting in the bathroom talking to himself. He pressed his back to the door and slid to the floor. He absently cast privacy spells before opening the box.

He didn’t even need to look up to know who he summoned. “I had a bad dream, Mum.” His heart thudded in his throat at his whispered words; words he’d longed to speak for so many years but couldn’t.

“Oh, my poor boy,” Lily said softly as she knelt by his side. The cold hand on his cheek was familiar from the dream. It was comforting none-the-less. “Tell me all about it.”

And he did. The tears that slid down his face during his recitation slipped straight through Lily’s fingers, but it didn’t matter. She was there with him. By the time he finished, Harry was near to sobbing.

“My sweet son… it didn’t happen that way.”

“I know.”

“It _wouldn’t_. Albus cares about you both a great deal.”

“Does he?” Harry asked, voice and eyes pleading.

“If he weren’t already dead, I’d kill that man,” Lily muttered darkly before her face gentled. She gave Harry a reassuring smile. “Yes, Harry,” she promised. “He might’ve had a strange way of showing it, but he did love you. He _does_.”

“Snape too?”

Lily’s smiled grew. “You care about Severus a great deal, don’t you?”

“He was pretty upset after talking to you last night,” Harry said in lieu of answering.

“I know,” Lily said sadly.

“He cried.”

“Oh.” She looked genuinely distraught at the news and slightly shocked that Harry knew it.

“I hugged him.”

“Good,” Lily declared. “Not enough people hugged Sev when he needed it. Guess that’s true about both my boys,” she added.

“Yeah. But you’re here now.”

“Do you feel better after talking about it, Harry? Or do I need to go get Albus for you?”

“No, that’s all right. I feel better.” It was true, he realized suddenly. “Thanks, Mum.”

“I’m always with you, my son.”

Harry gave her a genuine smile. “Glad to hear it,” he grinned. “But could you lot all bugger off for a bit. I want a shower.”

Lily was still laughing as she faded away. 

*************

Snape’s comment was, again, a quote from The Princess Bride. _“Good night, Westley. Good work. Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning.”_ — Dread Pirate Roberts


	20. Alternative Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry’s lessons in the Dark Arts begin. Meanwhile, Severus is pondering his relationship with his apprentice and engages a certain Headmaster in a much needed conversation

** Chapter 20 - Alternative Lessons **

Severus couldn’t concentrate on his classes. He was too busy thinking about what had occurred the night before and Potter’s upcoming lesson. The tomes he’d been searching for had finally arrived by discreet owl post (disguised to look like text books.) He’d debated on doing a practical lesson first, but decided that might be too reminiscent of the Occlumency lessons. Potter truly did seem to learn better with a hands-on-approach, but it had failed spectacularly before. Severus knew these lessons would be different. The Dark Arts came quite naturally to his brat.

‘ _Rather provincial of you, Severus_.’ The thought sounded frighteningly like Lucius. He pushed it aside, uncaring. He thought only the truth as he saw it, which was, in itself, rather frightening.

He was uncertain when, exactly, his mind decided Harry Potter was ‘his’ but it clearly had. Perhaps it had happened years ago, when he saved Potter’s life again and again. Perhaps it had happened when he looked into Harry’s eyes in the Shrieking Shack, both right before he died and when he ‘woke up.’ Harry’s fearful green eyes were the first thing he’d seen. Regardless of _when_ it had happened, he realized he’d been thinking of Harry as such since their surprisingly enjoyable conversation where they’d swapped truths as if under _Veritaserum_. It had grown worse, making him consciously aware of it, after their mock duel in class. His brat had taken every insult and curse thrown at him and had given as good as he got. The flashing green eyes hadn’t been angry at Severus’ harsh words but instead were amused. The fire and passion in the boy’s face as he’d insulted and fought had been nearly intoxicating.

But he was still just a boy, despite all the hardships life had laid upon his slim shoulders. He remembered the agony in Potter’s voice as he’d broken down in Severus’ arms. Until that moment, Severus had never once felt true hatred for Albus Dumbledore. But he had then. It wasn’t for what Albus might’ve done to him, but because of the hurt it inflicted upon his Harry. His heart had literally ached for the boy. He knew then he’d given himself, once again, to a pair of green eyes. This time, though, they were filled with pain and old beyond their years instead of laughing and carefree. This time, they belonged to a _Potter_ of all people.

Severus had been horrified when he’d used the Stone and James Potter had appeared. James had looked so _young_ and rather unlike the memories of the school boy rival who’d tormented him. He wondered at what point _Harry’s_ face had replaced James’ in his recollections.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Snape,” James had immediately said with a scowl. “Lily will be here in a minute. She is disgustingly excited to see you. We were all wondering what took you so bloody long.”

“Pardon?”

“ _Pardon_ ,” James mocked. “You still talk like a bloody ponce.”

“You listen here, Potter, I-”

“Oh, come off it, Sniv. I didn’t answer your summons to fight.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Even for a dead man, old habits die hard,” James sneered. “And making fun of you was my favorite of all my bad habits.”

Severus started to open his hand, to drop the Stone, but James’ shouts stopped him. “Wait! Lily will kill me even deader if she doesn’t get to talk to you because I was being a prat.”

“Why are you even here, Potter?”

“I was a shit to you in school,” James said, no trace of apology in his voice. “But I’ve been dead a lot longer than I was at Hogwarts.”

“As much as I rejoice in that fact, do you have a point?”

“I’ve had _years_ of my wife showing me what a prat I was. Then years of Albus telling me the same thing. Now my _son_ is even telling me I was an utter twat.”

“And here I’d always _hoped_ you would suffer the torments of hell. I guess some wishes _are_ granted.”

Surprisingly, James laughed. “Moony was right; you’re a pretty funny sod. Still a git, but that was good.”

“I’m ecstatic to have your approval, Potter.”

James sobered quickly. “You do, you know. Have my approval. I know what you did for my son, Snape, and what you are doing for him now. I… I thank you for it.”

“I am not doing it for _your_ gratitude.”

“But you aren’t doing it just for Lil’s anymore, are you?”

“No.”

“It’s for him. For Harry.”

Snape had looked away, uncertain of what to say. When he’d finally looked back, Lily had taken the place of her husband. She was smiling.

****

*************

Severus pulled himself out of his recollection in time to dismiss class. His students had stared at him incredulously as they scuttled from the classroom. Belatedly, he realized that, for the first time in his history of teaching, he hadn’t taken a single point the entire class. He wondered, idly, what his brat was doing to him. Then, he walked into his office. Potter was sitting in _his_ chair, feet resting on top of _his_ desk, sound asleep. He slammed the door with a startlingly loud _crash_ and watched the boy jump awake with amusement.

“You are in my chair,” Severus snarled.

The brat just laughed. He stood up and stretched like a cat. Severus gulped when the boy’s t-shirt lifted, exposing a smooth strip of stomach. “Sorry,” Potter said, covering a yawn. “I didn’t sleep last night. Nightmares.” The boy flashed a cheeky grin, despite said nightmares. “By the way, Mum sends her love.”

Severus just gaped at him. His thoughts from earlier returned. Potter might be changing his life, he decided, but it didn’t matter. Life would never be dull, and he somehow doubted Potter would ever cease surprising him. Severus mentally shook himself, dislodging the errant thought. As much as he thought of Potter as ‘ _his_ ,’ the boy wasn’t. Their apprenticeship would end eventually, and Harry would move on with his life. He ignored how much he _didn’t_ like the thought of being rid the boy who’d he’d once thought of as the bane of his existence.

“Come along, Potter,” he said, brushing past the boy. Harry followed him, his full bottom lip protruding in a pout. Severus ignored it, or at least tried to. “These will be your texts for our… private lessons,” Snape said, indicating a small stack of glamoured books on one of the end tables. He kept his tone purposefully professorial. He could not allow himself to be affected by the boy as he had the night before.

Potter nodded and moved toward the stack, shuffling through the books slowly. Harry allowed himself to see the enchantments and saw they were all labelled with rather dry titles such as The Evolution of Modern Defensive Theory in the 19th Century. Harry snorted quietly; even _Hermione_ wouldn’t pick that up for extra-curricular reading. When he looked through the glamour, though, he saw  Pain and Pleasure: Magic of the Lower Realms. 

“What do you know of the Dark Arts, Potter?” Snape asked as he indicated that Harry should sit for the discussion. Harry sank into the comfortable armchair and also accepted the tea Snape offered while he considered his answer.

“Very little, sir,” he admitted. “I’ve cast them a few times, but I never knew what I was doing. I read about them a bit while at Grimmauld Place. Most of it was over my head. I stopped after… after I found the book on ‘old’ magics.”

“Much of the Dark Arts is considered old magic,” Snape lectured, steepling his fingers and tapping his chin lightly. “How well versed are you in Wizarding History?”

“Not very,” Harry said sheepishly. “That’s more Hermione’s thing. I got a D in it. I tended to view it as nap time.”

Snape’s expression didn’t change, but Harry had the distinct impression the man was amused. “Binns was my teacher as well, Potter. I understand,” he said with a smirk. “One can only listen to such tediousness for so long. However, the Rebellions _were_ essential to the War between Light and Dark.”

“How so?”

“Ah… first you need to understand _what_ the Dark Arts are, Mr. Potter.” Harry waited patiently while Snape seemed to gather his thoughts. “The war between Light Magic and Dark Magic began close to a thousand years ago, when the doorways between the four realms closed.”

Harry nodded his understanding. Ron had told him and Hermione a few stories about the other realms. Fantastic tales about Noble Elves and Faeries who used to walk among wizards. Long ago, before even the Founding of Hogwarts, they’d simply vanished. A few stayed to live among magical folk, but most left. They closed the doorway between the realms behind them.

“There are three realms other than our own,” Snape continued lecturing. “Two are usually called the Outer Realms.” A flick of his wand placed two glowing lights in the air, one green and one blue. “Then, there is also the Lower Realm.” A red orb appeared below the others. They connected to form an inverted triangle. “Once, the Four Realms were all connected,” Snape added. A white light appeared in the center of the triangle, with a line verging out to each point. Harry had seen the symbol before on books in the Black Library. He’d asked Hermione about it. She’d told him to stay away from books marked with it. 

While Harry watched, the tri-color lights at the point moved toward the center orb. When they converged, they blotted out the pure white light by turning it dark. The significance was not lost on Harry. “The Dark Arts are magic from the other realms?” he asked, just to make sure he understood correctly.

“Yes.” Snape, for a moment, looked a bit proud. He returned the diagram to its original state. “What is now known as ‘Light Magic’ is that which originates from within a witch or wizard’s magical core. The Dark Arts are magics from outside our world.”

Again, Harry nodded his understanding. He bit his lip, hesitant about asking a question already. His Mentor, though, noticed. He seemed oddly pleased that Harry was thinking about it enough to have questions or comments, and gave a slight nod. “What happened to separate the realms?” Harry blurted.

“One of the great mysteries of our world, Potter. One day the denizens of the other realms retreated. There are still gateways, of course, but they are now closed to us as they are covered by the Veil.” Harry sucked in a sharp breath. Snape looked away, allowing Harry a moment to grieve. It was a kindness he did not expect from his Professor, and he appreciated it greatly. “When the Veil went up,” Snape continued after a moment, “The Dark Arts were severely weakened. The Veil is… tainted. Repeated use of magic from beyond the Veil poisons a wizard’s magical core, creating instability and madness.”

Harry knew that much from the lesson the other night. “I think I got that,” he said carefully. Like the Veil, it was a painful subject to think about. “Can you tell me about the other realms?” he asked, hoping to change the subject slightly. Snape hesitated, as if he wanted to say more but eventually relented and gave a small nod.

“The realm you will work with the most is the Spirit World.” The blue orb flashed as if saying, ‘ _Hey! I’m right here!_ ’ Again, Snape seemed to pause. “I will admit,” he said uneasily, “I have avoided magics associated with both the Outer Realms.”

It was easy for Harry to understand why Snape was uncomfortable. Slytherins, he realized, tended not to admit to weakness, and Snape’s comment was telling. While the Spirit World was filled with friends and family for Harry, Snape considered those who’d passed as people he’d failed. Harry didn’t know anything about the twinkling green light, so he was uncertain why Snape avoided that realm as well. His professor began lecturing again before Harry got up the courage to ask.

“The Spirit World is often called the Hidden Realm. Despite the Veil, wizards maintain the most contact with this world because many of the denizens are immune to the taint. I’m certain you could name a few of its inhabitants, Potter.”

“Yeah,” Harry said after a moment, thinking back on the impromptu lesson his Mum gave him after the final battle. “Ghosts, Thestrals, Vampires, Inferii…”

“Precisely. The Art most closely associated with the Spirit World is, obviously, Necromancy or Death Magic.” Harry gave a terse nod. “There are other Arts,” Snape added, “which you may or may not be able to learn.”

“What are they?”

“The Hidden Realm is associated with intuition and mental acuity. Rituals to aid in clairvoyance and pyschometry.”

“All right,” Harry said, making a mental note to look those words up in a dictionary later. “Are all the realms associated with specific types of magic?”

“And creatures, yes.” The blue orb faded and the green light brightened. It uncomfortably reminded Harry of the color of the Killing Curse. “The other ‘Outer Realm’ is that of the Fae,” Snape said. Harry focused on his voice and his eyes, not wanting to look at the green spell light. Snape must have sensed Harry’s discomfort with it because the orb faded out. “I am uncertain if you will be able to use many Fae Magics, Potter. Many Dark Wizards cannot.”

Harry frowned. “That makes no sense, Professor. If using Fae Magic _makes_ you a Dark Wizard, then why…”

“Indeed. It is a conundrum for us. However, it is not for the Fae. Shall I explain?”

“Please,” Harry said, both curious and intrigued by the discussion.

“Long before the Veil fell, the Fae were already separated into Light and Dark. Their world was divided into two Courts, the-”

“Seelie and Unseelie,” Harry interrupted. He gave an embarrassed shrug. “Even Muggles know that, sir.”

“Then I’m sure you understand why the Seelie Court, who have ruled the Fae Realm for millennia, are untrusting of Dark Wizards.”

“Dark Wizards don’t eat the flesh of babies, sir. Dark Elves, supposedly, do.”

Snape’s lip twitched slightly. “I am surprised you’d say that, Potter, having met Fenrir.”

Harry shuddered in disgust. “I doubt that had anything to do with him being a Dark Wizard or even his lycanthropy.”

“True. Fenrir was, quite honestly, a cannibal. He did not deem himself as such, though, because he did not consider himself human. The infection which causes lycanthropy is a product of the Unseelie Court.”

“Really? Is that why Werewolves and Vampires are considered Dark Creatures? They both come from the Outer Realms?

“Yes, though not all creatures from the other worlds are considered such. Pure Veela, for example, originate from the Lower Realms, and House Elves were once the guardians of the Noble Fae of the Seelie Court.”

“Huh,” Harry said, wondering what effect that would have on SPEW.

“The Arts associated with the Fae are those of the Elementals.”

“Wait a minute… _Neville_ does elemental magic!?”

“I am unsurprised. As a Green Man, elemental magic would be quite natural for him.”

“Sprout is teaching Neville Dark Arts!?”

“Doubtful,” Snape sneered. “ _Professor_ Sprout is not a Practitioner. She is, most likely, teaching him to manipulate the elements, not conjure them.”

“B-but… didn’t we _all_ learn how to conjure the elements?” Harry asked, clearly confused. “Hermione’s been conjuring fire since First Year.”

“I remember,” Snape said drolly. Harry flushed slightly. He’d forgotten Hermione had set Snape on fire. “What Ms. Granger did, though, is a Transfiguration spell. The flame is created by altering particles of air.”

“What’s the difference?”

Snape smiled rather maliciously. A simple wave of his wand created a small flame similar to the ones Hermione made. Harry watched it flutter in the air for a moment before Snape dismissed it. A second later, after a much longer incantation, _Snape_ burst into flames. Harry yelped and toppled from his chair, trying to scramble away. It took him a moment to realize there was no _heat_ to the fire. If anything, the blue/violet flames were _cold_. Snape ended that spell as well with a smug look at his startled student.

“It is commonly referred to as Dark Fire, and is more often than not one of the first spells a Practitioner will learn to cast, though it takes years of practice to master it. However, students of the Dark Arts usually learn it _long_ before attempting complex magics such as Summonings or _Resurrecting the dead_.”

Harry snickered. “I never could stick to the proper order of things.”

“So I’ve learned,” Snape said dryly. “Shall I order dinner before we continue?” his professor asked, already rising to put away the forgotten tea tray.

“Um, yeah, I’d like that,” Harry said, feeling inexplicably shy. A moment later, a diminutive House Elf, wearing a bright green bow on top of her head, appeared in front of them. 

“What can Dotty be getting for her Professor Sir and Master Harry Potter Sir?” she asked cheerfully but not effusively. Snape was rather polite as he ordered a simple meal. Dotty grinned widely and bowed before vanishing. Harry watched the tiny creature, trying to imagine how she could possibly come from the same world that spawned Fenrir Greyback. Then, he remembered that it had created Remus Lupin, too, and it was easier to imagine.

“So,” he said, wanting to continue the lecture as he was finding it rather fascinating. “The Fae work with the Four Elements. Anything else?”

“Six. They consider there to be six elements.”

“Um…”

“Life and magic are the other two, though they have different names for them, of course.”

“Oh.”

“In my opinion, Fae Magic will be the most confusing for you. Much of their Life Magic resembles the Death Magic of the Spirit World and their Earth Magic has aspects related to the Daemon Realm. I am unconcerned if you cannot keep the details in that thick skull of yours for now. As long as you understand the basics,” Snape said with a sneer.

Harry, though, wasn’t listening to the insult, he was too busy speculating on something else Snape had said. “The Daemon Realm? Is that the-”

“The Lower Realm, yes.”

“It’s the realm you studied, right?”

Snape looked rather uncomfortable. If Harry wasn’t mistaken, his pale skin had a slight flush to it as well. “Yes, Potter, it is.”

“What type of magic is it associated with?”

“Mainly magic of the body and senses.”

“Uh…”

“Sex magic, Potter.” It was Harry’s turn to blush. Snape was staring pointedly at the floor when he continued. “Veela, Incubi, Succubi… they are all native to the Lower Realm. The denizens tend to be rather… physical. Not only in the sexual sense; they are quite violent as well.”

“Oh,” Harry said, feeling like an idiot. He searched desperately for something intelligent to say so Snape didn’t think him a complete moron. “The, ah, Fae Realm… you said their Earth Magic is, um, similar?”

“Many of their fertility rites contain aspects of both sex magic and blood magic, yes.”

“Is blood magic part of the Lower Realm?” Harry asked quickly, banishing thoughts of _fertility rites_ from his mind before he started blushing again.

“Blood magic exists in all four realms, Potter. There _are_ blood rituals that are specific to the Wizarding World.”

“So they aren’t… tainted?”

“Precisely.”

“Is that the type of Blood Magic Dumbledore used in protecting the Dursleys’ house?”

Snape cringed. “No, it was not. That was largely based on magic of the Spirit World, since it was based on the blood of a deceased relative. There _may_ have been aspects of Daemonic enchantments, to strengthen the wards over the years. However, that is merely supposition based on what you’ve told me of your life there.”

“Tell me,” Harry demanded quietly.

Snape closed his eyes, as if he couldn’t look at Harry. “If they were Daemonic in nature… they would be strengthened by pain and pleasure. They may have been fed by your pain-“

“And the pleasure my relatives got in causing it.”

“Yes.”

“Son of a bitch,” Harry cursed. Snape’s dark eyes snapped open. He looked at Harry with a mixture of pity and understanding. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” Harry said, trying to shrug off the anger and disappointment he felt learning yet another way in which Dumbledore screwed with his life.

“Your anger is justified, Potter,” his Mentor said softly.

“I know it is!” Harry snapped quickly. “But it doesn’t do anything! It doesn’t help! I never have to go back there! That’s the only thing that’s important. I never have to see them again.” He took several deep breaths. “What about the Unforgivables?”

“I believe they would work quite well on your relatives. Why? Did you want to learn them?”

Harry snorted, amused despite himself. “Thanks, Professor,” he said wryly. “I meant, what realm are the Unforgivables from?”

Snape allowed the subject change, which truthfully surprised Harry. “They aren’t,” he said evenly. “Technically, they are Light Magic.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. They come completely from within the caster. It is part of the reason they are categorized as Unforgivable when there are a myriad of similar Dark Art spells.”

“They needed to call them something different because-”

“They do not fit under the Ministry approved definition of Dark Arts.”

“Oh.” Harry frowned, thinking. “People refer to them as Dark Arts.”

“People, on a whole, are ignorant.”

“True.” Harry grinned at Snape’s startled expression over his easy agreement. “Did you think I was going to argue, Professor?”

“No,” Snape was shaking his head. His thick brows were drawn together and lines creased his forehead. He was, quite obviously troubled. “I am having some difficulty adjusting to seeing you as you _are_ , Potter, instead of as who I expect you to be.”

Harry gave Snape a rueful smile. “You’re trying, at least. It’s more than most.”

“I am learning not to anticipate your reactions.”

“Why?”

“Because they are generally wrong. Death matured you beyond what I expected.”

“I’m pretty sure you could still tick me off, sir. But you don’t try to anymore. Death changed you, too.”

“I am fairly certain it was my return to life that did so, not my death.”

Harry looked down at his feet. For some reason, he had to bite his lip to prevent himself from breaking out into a stupid grin. The happy expression faded, though, when his professor spoke again. “Are you going to discuss what you’ve learned with Albus?”

Harry shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. He’d contemplated speaking to the Headmaster’s portrait after the other night, but had changed his mind. “I figure it won’t do any good. He’ll only tell me when he’s ready to.” Harry flashed a bitter smile. “It took him over a year to admit he _purposefully_ set me up as Master of Death. I doubt he’d tell me of any of his plans unless _he_ decided it was time for me to know.”

Snape nodded, as if he thought the same. Their eyes met and locked, each with a look of gentle understanding between them. The moment stretched out, the air crackling with an unnameable emotion.

“Do you still need to grade the Fourth Year essays, sir?” Harry asked, breaking the intense connection before he made a fool of himself.

“I do,” Snape looked mildly relieved that Harry was ignoring the poignant moment.

“I’ll start reading, then. Um… any particular book I should begin with?”

Snape searched the pile and handed Harry an untitled tome. It was embossed with a fading symbol of the Four Realms on the cover. Harry curled up in his chair and began reading the Introduction. He didn’t get very far. He spent most the time before curfew trying to surreptitiously study Snape.

He didn’t notice his professor got very little marking done, as he was studying Harry just as intently.

****

*************

Walking through to halls of Hogwarts felt leisurely to Severus. Perhaps it was because he need not keep all his senses on alert searching for Potter anymore. It was rather relaxing now, though he would admit he’d always enjoyed the hunt.

Severus allowed thoughts of his apprentice to infiltrate his mind, though he usually kept them at bay. Potter had surprised him again that afternoon. At first he’d been concerned about meeting with him for the lesson. He’d expected the boy to mock him for breaking down the night before. It was, he knew, an instinctive reaction. He could now admit, at least in his own thoughts, that the Boy-Who-Lived was blessed with an empathy that Severus himself tended to lack. It reminded him, in many ways, of Lily. Harry certainly didn’t get such a trait from his blasted father. James Potter’s insensitivity was such that he had, on occasion, made Severus look like a perfect gentleman in comparison.

During the lesson, his brat had also demonstrated a maturity and intelligence that Severus had previously thought him incapable of. He’d expected Potter to rant and rave about Dumbledore’s treatment of him, but he had not. The quiet acceptance of it was almost disturbing. He’d known, for years, that Albus was grooming Potter. Putting hardships and obstacles before him to prepare the boy for his destiny. That Potter took his manipulation in stride as well suggested the full magnitude of how accustomed to the treatment he’d become. It was sick, in Severus’ opinion, for a wizard so young to _expect_ such machinations. It was also a trait he tended to see more of in his own Slytherins. They, of all the Hogwarts’ Houses, tended to be knowledgable of such schemes. For a Gryffindor such as Harry to be so cognizant of them… it suggested how very much he had suffered from the manipulations.

Severus would’ve been much happier if Harry _had_ ranted. For starters, it would’ve given him an outlet for his own aggression when he’d been allowed to yell at Potter to calm him. As Harry had barely even gotten upset, Severus too had been forced to seethe quietly.

At least until the boy left.

His expression was grim as he gave the password to the gargoyle statue. Despite the late hour, Minerva was still sitting at her desk. Severus said nothing as he lowered himself into a tartan armchair. After a moment, Minerva sat down her quill and studied her companion. Something of Severus’ distress must have shown on his face, because she summoned whiskey to add to their tea.

“Is everything all right, Severus?” she asked, handing him a cup of liberally spiked beverage.

“No, Minerva, it is not,” he answered curtly.

“Your students-”

“Are fine,” Severus assured.

“The Slytherins?”

“Are as well as can be expected, given the current political climate, though Potter’s acceptance of them has had a marked effect.”

“And how is young Harry?”

_Ah_. Severus wondered how long it would take Minerva to get there. Two questions longer than it would’ve taken Albus. “Potter is, as far as I can tell, well. The older Gryffindors are having some difficulty realizing he is no longer simply their friend, but is in a position of authority over them. Potter, however, seems either ignorant or uncaring by any disrespect from them.” He forced his lips to twist into a sneer. It was surprisingly difficult.

“I’m sure it will get better with time.”

“One can always hope,” Severus said dryly. Potter, he knew, would need to force the situation eventually. Severus was trying to encourage the boy to do so, with very little success so far.

“What seems to be on you mind then, Severus?”

“I am… concerned,” he said carefully.

“Oh?”

“I have learned some… disturbing information. During my lessons with Potter. I wish to discuss them with the Headmaster.”

Minerva frowned and glanced at the portrait behind her. Albus was snoring lightly in his frame. “Now?” she asked, clearly suggesting it might not be the best of times.

Severus, of course, ignored the insinuation in her tone completely. “It would be appreciated, yes.”

“I assume you would like privacy?”

“If you would be so kind.”

Minerva nodded and rose gracefully. She paused as she walked by Severus and rested a gentle hand on his shoulder in reassurance. Severus’ concern must’ve truly been evident for Minerva to offer such comfort. Once she’d left, Severus stared at the painting of the sleeping wizard and quietly seethed some more. He fired a strong Stinging Hex at it. It would not _harm_ it — there was very little that could harm a magical portrait — but it would jolt the frame enough to wake the Headmaster. Besides, it made Severus feel marginally better to curse the old man.

“Severus!” Albus exclaimed happily upon opening his eyes. “How are you, my boy?”

Severus scowled. “I am troubled, Albus.”

“So I see,” the painting said far too cheerfully.

“In regards to Harry Potter,” Severus added, hoping _that_ would destroy the twinkle in the old man’s eyes. Of course, it didn’t.

“Oh? Is Harry in some sort of trouble?”

The genuine concern in Albus’ voice made Severus want to scream. What right did the Headmaster have to _care_ after all he’d done to the boy!? Severus, though, carefully tucked his fury away, knowing how ineffectual it tended to be when unleashed on Albus. “I am uncertain,” he said, forcing his voice level. “I seem to be unable to Ground him properly.”

“Oh, dear. I had forgotten that complication.”

“You knew,” Severus said coldly.

“Of course! I was the boy’s Grounder for several years.”

“How…”

“I held one of the Deathly Hallows myself, Severus. I was immune to the Cloak’s effects. Or, more accurately, I was able to see through them. I balanced Harry’s core at the end of every school year, as he was usually in the Infirmary at such time.”

“You did?” Severus asked, genuinely surprised.

“Of course, my boy. It would’ve have been negligent of me to place him under the influence of the Blood Wards if I had not stabilized him first.”

“It was negligent to send him back to that wretched place at all,” Severus snarled.

“I see,” Albus said slowly. “Is that what is causing your anger, Severus? You finally realize how wrong you were in regards to Harry?”

“I’m _angry_ about a lot of things, old man,” Severus snapped. He took a deep, calming breath. It didn’t help. “Were the Blood Wards Daemonic in nature?”

“Not initially. I added to them after Harry’s First Year, once I’d learned of his deplorable treatment there.”

“But you still sent him back,” Severus said icily.

“I had to. Privet Drive truly was the safest place for him. I scanned Harry’s memories, of course, to ensure the abuse wasn’t overly harmful.”

“He was just a child!” Severus yelled.

Albus smiled sadly. “He was much more than a mere child, Severus, and had been since the day Tom Riddle marked him.”

“He was a little boy, and you-“

“Had to keep him safe,” Albus interrupted. “Surely _you_ understand, Severus. After all, the safety of Harry Potter was far more important than the boy’s comfort.”

Severus cringed. He’d used that argument once when Albus was lecturing him over his harsh treatment of Harry. He glared at the Headmaster for throwing his own words back at him. However, as he did not wish to explain his change of view in regards to Potter, he let the matter drop. For now.

“How am I supposed to balance him if I cannot access his magical core?”

“There are ways, Severus, as I’m sure you well know.”

“I refuse to bond the brat to me,” Severus said immediately.

“A year ago you would’ve worded that statement quite differently, my boy.”

Severus startled and reviewed what he’d said. Albus was, of course, correct. Prior to their apprenticeship together, he would’ve said, ‘ _I refuse to be bonded to the brat_.’ Once again, he was confronted with his changing perspective. Now, it was not so much that _he_ did not want to be bound to Potter, as he did not think it right to bond the boy to _him_.

“Did you ground James Potter as well as his son?” he asked before the old man could further analyze his relationship with Harry.

The sparkle vanished from Albus’ blue eyes. He looked, for a moment, all of his one hundred and sixteen years; he looked old and sad, full of regrets and failures. It was not an impression Severus had received from the old man often.

“James was not a Dark Wizard,” Albus replied softly. “When he first began at Hogwarts, I recognized his Cloak as one of the Hallows. I did a full scan on him. His core was surprisingly Light, but I decided to watch him regardless.”

“You told Poppy it was to monitor the effects of his interactions with Lupin.”

“Yes,” the Headmaster said, voice full of contrition. “I had done extensive research on the Hallows in my youth. I had… speculated, on the true effects of the Cloak. I did not want Poppy scanning him and panicking if she found something amiss, so I was prepared to act as the Potter boy’s Grounder. However, he _never_ needed it, Severus. James’ core remained one of the purest I had ever seen. I fear… I was negligent.”

Severus arched a brow and waited.

Albus sighed heavily. “It has never been proven that associations with Dark Creatures causes core instability. When I did not see any effects on James, I dismissed the issue. I did not realize, until your Fifth Year, that Remus’ lycanthropy _did_ have residual effects.”

“When Black tried to kill me,” Severus said bluntly.

“I realized my mistake immediately. I could not bring myself to punish Sirius as harshly as the indiscretion deserved because I knew _I_ was the one at fault.”

Severus swallowed harshly, feeling a lump in his throat. He had, for years, assumed the lack of punishment was due to him being a Slytherin. He wondered, with more than a little regret, how different his life would’ve been if he’d known the truth.

However, he also knew playing the ‘ _what if_ ’ game was pointless. Harry’s words from early came back to him. ‘ _It doesn’t help! It doesn’t do anything!_ ’ He understood them better now.

“I assume you Grounded Black after the… incident,” he asked. He wanted to know so he could help Potter through this better.

“Yes, as well as Peter.” If possible, Dumbledore looked even more miserable. “The taint in Peter’s core had accumulated. I helped him balance out as much of it as possible but his core had been irrevocably changed.”

Severus nodded his understanding. There was an inherent weakness in the Grounding Spells. If the poisoned magic was allowed to build, it could not be ground out properly. Instead, the taint could only be dispersed throughout the core. It made it so no single area contained a large concentration of the poison, but the technique was little more than a stop gap. As the user’s core was _already_ more damaged than they could naturally fix on their own, it was easier for them to unbalance again. It was, quite truthfully, what he feared would happen to Harry if he was not Grounded properly. Soon.

“How am I supposed to help Potter?” he asked softly, the fear in his voice evident.

He was not expecting Albus to start twinkling again. Nor was he reassured by the enigmatic smile. “I’m sure a way will present itself eventually, my boy. Have faith, Severus,” he added with a fond smile.

Severus did not trust the look on the Headmaster’s face. Unfortunately, Potter was proved correct. Albus would not reveal his machinations until _he_ felt it was time. Though a weight had been removed from Severus’ shoulders during their conversation, a burden he’d carried for years, Severus still left the Headmaster’s office feeling rather dissatisfied.


	21. Closed Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione must learn that some doors should stay firmly closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“When one door closes another door opens; but we so often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door, that we do not see the ones which open for us.”  
> _ – Alexander Graham Bell

**Chapter 21 — Closed Doors**  
Neville Longbottom was both anxious and excited about the first Hogsmeade trip of the year. It was, quite honestly, annoying most of the Fifth House students. Ginny had, of course, said “yes” to the date. That was not what annoyed Neville’s classmates. They were all genuinely happy for the nervous boy. What annoyed them was that Neville had gotten _permission_ to skip the second part of the NEWT lesson that Saturday because of his date. It made sense, as it was his own Mentor’s lesson he was missing; still, the Fifth House students were undeniably jealous. That he got to skip, not over Ginny.

Hermione was quite annoyed when she returned to the NEWT classroom after lunch and discovered that Neville wasn’t the only one absent. There were _six_ other students who didn’t return after the morning’s comprehensive exam! Hermione was not too surprised about Lavender and Pavarti; neither of the other Gryffindor witches took the course at NEWT level. Wayne Hopkins' absence was a bit of a shock. The Hufflepuff seemed rather keen on the subject during study sessions, and he _was_ one of Neville’s study partners. Finch-Fletchey and Hannah were absent as well, which Hermione found very odd. Professor Sprout was the Hufflepuff Head of House and _none_ of the puffs had showed up for her lesson!

However, those weren’t the absences that truly irritated Hermione. _Ron_ had skivved off. Hermione was furious! She had difficulty concentrating all class because she was so mad. When NEWT class ended, the Fifth House students were all grumbling good-naturedly. Hermione, though, was not in the mood for idle chit-chat. She was the first through the portal and was storming up the stairs to the boy’s dorm before anyone could even follow her into the Common Room.

“I am _so_ mad at you, Ronald Weasley,” she bellowed as she threw open the door to his and Harry’s room. Her lecture died on her lips. Ron was stretched out across his bed, staring at her in shock. Hannah was lying next to him. Their hair was mussed, clothes skewed, and lips swollen. There was no mistaking what they’d been doing.

“Hermione!” Ron yelled upon seeing his girlfriend. He scrambled from the bed. Hermione was backing away, staring at him in shock. She slammed the door in his face before he could reach her.

She heard him chasing after her as she fled down into the Common Room. She didn’t stop, running immediately up to the girl’s dorms. Ron, she knew, wouldn’t be able to follow her up the trick stairs. She didn’t stop until she stood before the door to her room. She was unable to force herself to enter. It wasn’t _just_ her room, it was _Hannah’s_ as well.

“Are you all right, Hermione?” Daphne asked, having followed the Gryffindor up the stairs.

“Can I use your room for a bit?” Hermione asked numbly.

“Of course.”

The Slytherin had barely closed the door behind them when Hermione burst into tears. “Hey, hey,” Daphne said in surprise. She pulled Hermione into her arms. “What’s this all about?” she asked, letting the Gryffindor cling to her and cry on her shoulder.

Hermione told her, words broken by small sobs. “I don’t even know why I’m crying,” she finished petulantly. “We weren’t even much of a _couple_ anymore. I just… I don’t know why it wasn’t _me_ … that he wanted to be with,” she hiccuped.

“Because Weasley’s an idiot,” Daphne stated firmly. “For Salazar’s sake, he cheated on _you_ with a _Hufflepuff_!”

“Hannah’s sweet,” Hermione couldn’t help but argue. She’d never been prone to pettiness, and the only problem he had with the other witch was that she was currently snogging Hermione’s boyfriend.

“Yeah, she is. But _you_ are intelligent and powerful and beautiful. You deserve so much more than _Ron Weasley_.”

“What if nobody else want me?” Hermione asked, sounding like a scared little girl. 

“That won’t be the case,” Daphne reassured her.

“Malfoy said-”

“Draco can be a bit of an ass,” Daphne interrupted. “Don’t listen to anything he might’ve said. There _are_ people who would be proud to be with you,” Daphne added, kissing Hermione’s temple.

Hermione nodded, trying to share the Slytherin’s confidence. Daphne continued to hold her, rocking softly, until Hermione’s sobs turned into quiet hiccups. Only then did she pull away, green eyes filled with sympathy. “Your make-up is a mess,” she chided. She summoned a damp cloth from the bathroom and gently began washing Hermione’s face.

“You’re being awfully nice about this,” Hermione said in embarrassment. She rubbed fruitlessly at a smudge of kohl she’d left on Daphne’s shoulder.

Daphne shrugged her other shoulder. “I understand what you’re going through,” she said with a small smile. “Blaise and I have had an on again, off again relationship for the past several years. More than once I found out we were ‘off again’ because I walked in on him with somebody else.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione mumbled.

Daphne shrugged again. “He’s an ass… but then so are all men.”

“Except for Harry,” Hermione sniffled.

“Draco would be my one exception.” Daphne chuckled at Hermione’s incredulous look. “I know. It sounds weird, but it’s true. I always knew I could turn to Draco when Blaise was being a bastard.” Daphne hesitated before pulling Hermione into another hug. “Do you want me to get Potter for you?”

“Please,” Hermione said, nodding miserably.

Daphne led Hermione over to the bed and gently urged her to sit down. She smoothed Hermione’s hair from her face where it was clinging to her damp cheeks. “I’ll be back as soon as possible. You should rest until then,” she added. Hermione nodded numbly and curled up on the bed, looking small and vulnerable. Daphne glanced back at her before hurrying from the room.

She found Potter easily. He was in the Common with Ron and Draco. The rest of Fifth House seemed to have made themselves scarce. Daphne hung back for a moment, listening to the Boy-who-lived chastise his friend. Potter had, to her, always seemed rather even-tempered. She was surprised how easily he reprimanded the Weasel, especially since he barely raised his voice.

“I _told_ you to talk to her!” he said firmly. “You said you would!”

“I know,” Weasley said miserably. “I fucked up.”

“Yeah, Ron, you did. Big time.”

“I don’t know what to do, Har.”

“You’re going to make this right, Ron. I don’t care _how_ but you _will_ apologize to Hermione. And to Hannah. What you were doing to her wasn’t fair either.”

Ron nodded, shoulders hunched and looking miserably.

“Well,” Harry barked, “What are you waiting for? Go find them!”

Ron nodded again and turned away. Daphne caught a glimpse of his face for the first time. Weasley truly looked wretched. He also had a bruise forming on his cheekbone. She wondered which one of the boys had decked him. Her money was on Potter, but Draco’s expression was just as thunderous.

“Hermione wants to see you,” she said as soon as Weasley had walked away.

“Where is she?” Potter asked immediately.

“My room.”

“I can’t get up there.” The Gryffindor dug into one of his robe pockets and pulled out a folded piece of cloth. “Give this to her. Tell her I will meet her in the Room of Requirement.”

“ _We_ will meet her,” Draco corrected. Harry looked at him in surprise.

Daphne agreed and started back toward her room. She paused outside her door when she heard voices coming from within. She entered as stealthily as possible and was shocked to see Hannah sitting on the side of her bed, rubbing Hermione’s back.

“I’m so sorry,” the Hufflepuff was whispering. “I thought you two had already split.”

“Did the Weasel tell you that?” Daphne asked coldly.

Hannah shook her head sadly. “I assumed. They… they didn’t act like much of a couple anymore,” she finished miserably. 

“I know,” Hermione agreed in a quiet whisper as she sat up. “We weren’t.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Hannah apologized.

“Do you like him?” Hermione asked with genuine curiosity.

“Yeah. Quite a lot. I have for a while. Since the DA, actually. He’s so funny and strong.”

Hermione nodded, though Daphne had the distinct impression that she didn’t actually agree.

“I never would have, if I’d known…” Hannah trailed off.

“I know. It wouldn’t be very Hufflepuff of you to be disloyal,” Hermione said with a sad smile.

“What are we going to do?”

“I’m going to be angry and bitter for a while, and _you_ are going to find Ron and tell him you didn’t see me up here. You should probably reassure him that you still want to be with him. He’ll be feeling a bit guilty.”

Hannah looked gob-smacked. “You want me to…”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

The Hufflepuff nodded and left. 

Daphne shook her head. “Stupid, sentimental Gryffindors. You have all the fodder you need to make both her and Weasley grovel for _days_.”

“Why should I?” Hermione asked, sounding far too calm. “Ron was my friend long before we… I care about him. I want him to be happy. He wasn’t, with me. But I think he will be with Hannah. Who am I to stand in the way?”

“The wronged party,” Daphne said dryly. Hermione just flashed her a sad smile.

“Did you find Harry?”

“Yeah. Potter and Draco want to meet us in the Room of Requirement. He told me to give you this,” she added, handing Hermione the folded bit of fabric. Hermione smiled as she shook it out. Daphne’s eyes widened at seeing the Invisibility Cloak. 

Ron had returned to the Common Room when they snuck down the stairs. Daphne gave him a haughty glare and ushered the invisible Hermione through the portal. Draco and Harry had already disappeared, ostensibly toward the Room of Requirement. It was confirmed when they reached the tapestry of Barnaby the Barmy on the seventh floor. The door opposite was clearly visible.

Harry and Draco were already ensconced within. Harry immediately stood and moved toward Hermione. He embraced her as soon as the cloak came off. Daphne was unsurprised when Draco hugged the distraught witch as well. He pulled away with an odd smile. “Your mind works in odd ways, Granger,” he said. “Potter asked the room for a place where you’d feel comfortable and safe and _this_ is what it gave us,” he added, gesturing at the room. Daphne looked around and wondered what was so odd about it, other than the disparaging styles. There was an elegant sitting area in the center of the room and a dingy, dark kitchen off to one side. A large four-poster bed was tucked into one corner next to a window, decorated in Gryffindor colors.

“I don’t know what you think is so strange about it, Malfoy,” Harry said, looking around as well. “The kitchen is obviously Grimmauld Place. It’s where Hermione and I usually hung out in that house. Besides, it was under Fidelius, so of course she felt safe there. The bed is from the Gryffindor Dorm. Again, obvious. And the rest-”

“Is my parent’s sitting room,” Draco interrupted.

“Yeah. But the chair your dad usually sits in is missing,” Harry pointed out, clearly amused. 

“I _like_ their sitting room,” Hermione said quietly. She glanced at the vacant spot and let out a watery giggle. 

“Apparently, you don’t think much of Father,” Draco said dryly, flashing the hints of a smirk. Hermione shrugged noncommittally.

“Are you all right, ‘Mione?” Harry asked in sudden concern.

“I will be. I think.”

 

****

*************

Hours later, the four of them were still in the Room of Requirement. Harry had tucked Hermione in, then curled up on the bed with the witch to hold her as they both drifted to sleep. Draco and Daphne remained awake, though Daphne was starting to feel sleepy as she stretched out on the couch. They were talking quietly so they wouldn’t wake the Gryffindors.

“Is Granger the person you are interested in?” Daphne whispered to her friend.

“No.”

“Are you sure? I noticed your knuckles are scraped. _You_ hit Weasley.”

“It was a good excuse.” Draco grinned. “Besides, Potter was fixing to, and I thought it might stop him if I did it before him.”

“Why would you care if Potter punched the Weasel?”

“As much as I _don’t_ understand it, their friendship means a lot to Potter. I didn’t want him to jeopardize it permanently.”

“Thoughtful of you,” Daphne mumbled, hiding her surprise. “So, if it isn’t Granger, who _are_ you interested in?”

“You know I’m not going to answer that,” Draco said with a smirk. Daphne had been interrogating him about his crush since they’d returned to Hogwarts. Draco refused to answer. All he’d say was that it was pointless because he was never going to act on it. The only thing Daphne had learned was that it was a witch Draco was pining for. She didn’t think the girl was part of Fifth House, which meant it was a Seventh Year. As the Weaslette was the only Seventh Year Daphne had ever seen her friend interact with — and Draco adamantly denied it was Potter’s ex-girlfriend he was interested in — Daphne was left flummoxed on how to help her friend.

“Besides,” Draco continued after a moment, “I thought _you_ were the one interested in Granger.”

“I would have stood aside for you, Draco. You know that.”

“You should tell Blaise to go fuck himself.”

“You know I won’t.”

“I know.”

Draco gave her a fond smile. Daphne felt her eyelids drooping. Malfoy stood and kissed her on the forehead before tucking a blanket that hadn’t been there a moment before around her. “Get some sleep,” he ordered. Daphne gave a tired nod and dozed off almost immediately.

****

*************

Hermione woke feeling rather disoriented. It took her a minute to remember where she was. In the Room of Requirement, curled up in bed with her cheek pressed against Harry’s chest. She was mildly embarrassed the Slytherins had seen her sobbing, as well as surprised by how sympathetic and comforting they’d been. Mainly, though, she was just glad that Harry had been with her. She knew this had to be hard on her friend, as he was so close to both her and Ron. He hadn’t lied to her, and he hadn’t given her any platitudes. He hadn’t told her ‘ _everything is going to be fine_ ’ or ‘ _you two will work this out_.’ Instead, he’d held her as she cried herself out and then started talking quietly. He admitted that he knew Ron was interested in Hannah, but had thought Ron was going to talk to her before acting on it. He apologized for not breaking confidence and telling her.

“He was so scared of losing your friendship,” he said. “He loves you. Just like I do.”

In the quiet and dimly lit darkness, the truth was easy to admit. “Like you love Ginny,” she said in understanding. “It’s… just not the right way. I know. I’ve… known. I just-“

“Wanted it to be enough,” Harry finished.

“Is it wrong that I’m more worried about our friendship than fixing the relationship?” she asked guiltily.

“No, but I think it probably proves that the relationship between you two wasn’t right.”

Hermione nodded. They lapsed into silence. Eventually, still wrapped in each other’s arms, they’d fallen asleep. It was familiar comfort from the months in the tent when it had been just the two of them. They'd curled up together many a time for warmth or reassurance. Harry slept fitfully at the best of times, and this was hardly one of those. Luckily, though, he wasn’t screaming. But he was frowning, whimpering, and kicking at the sheets tangled around his feet. Hermione sat up and smoothed the hair from Harry’s sweaty face. The soft shushing sounds were automatic, but she tried not to be loud enough to wake the person she could see sleeping on the couch.

Harry kicked the covers away roughly and rolled toward her. His fingers clutched at his chest, but he settled down with a soft sigh.

Hermione very slowly started to climb over him. He shifted and she froze, not wanting to wake him after he’d just begun to sleep peacefully. Fortunately, he didn’t stir again. Hermione, though, could now see the hand on his chest was clutching a silver chain from which hung a small disk. As she never seen her friend wearing jewelry before, she was curious. She leaned closer to see it in the dim candlelight.

Hermione gasped loudly before the fear that she’d wake Harry returned. She frantically, but carefully, climbed the rest of the way over him and off the bed. Almost holding her breath, Hermione leaned over to get a better look at the medallion. It was nowhere near as intricate as the one Daphne wore. It was little more than a silver disc with a simple etching of a peacock feather. But the Slytherin’s words rang loudly in her ears. ‘ _The charm will always be placed on the image of a peacock feather. Peacocks are symbols of death and rebirth, like the Phoenix, and their eyes guard against illusion_.’

“Are you going to judge him?”

Hermione jumped, letting out a muffled shriek. She whirled around guiltily. Draco sat in the window seat at the foot of the bed. The moonlight that came in the magical window washed his blonde hair to pure white; the silvery light and deep shadows hid his expression. Hermione wished she could see his eyes so she could better tell what he was thinking. “What are you on about, Malfoy?” she asked. Even though she couldn’t see his eyes, she felt them. Draco’s gaze penetrated the meager defenses she had left. She looked away quickly and her gaze fell upon Harry. And the silver necklace.

“You don’t fool me, Granger. You don’t lie nearly well enough to. You recognized his necklace. Question is… how do you know what it means?”

“Does it matter?” Hermione asked defiantly. 

“Guess not. Though I figure Daphne told you. Which would be why you quit wearing glamours.” The shadows on his face shifted as Draco looked down at her arm. “For the most part, that is.”

Hermione tilted her chin up, trying to sound confident. “It doesn’t matter _how_ I know what it is. The point is that I _do_. So do you, obviously.”

Draco hopped down from the window seat and crossed over to her in three long strides. Only when he stood before her did she notice he held his wand. “Do not think I will hesitate to _Obliviate_ you, Granger.”

It was a struggle not to back down. Draco’s expression left no doubt to how serious the Slytherin truly was. “You want me to think you’re protecting yourself and Daphne, but you aren’t. You are trying to protect Harry.”

“He’s Harry fucking Potter! The Boy-who-bloody-saved-us-all! Are you _really_ going to judge _him_ over this?!”

“No,” Hermione said without hesitation. “And _not_ because he’s the Chosen One, or the Savior, or whatever else the  Prophet is calling him this week. I won’t judge him because he’s Harry. He’s still… just Harry.”

Draco’s hand relaxed around his wand.

“Teach me,” Hermione said suddenly. “Help me understand.”

Draco was shaking his head before the words even finished leaving her mouth. “No,” he said firmly.

“I need to learn this, Malfoy.”

“You don’t get it, do you? You already _have_ a teacher.”

Hermione glanced to the couch, where Daphne was curled up sleeping. Hermione didn’t think Draco was talking about her, for some reason. She gave the boy a questioning look, but he just shook his head again. “You’ll learn, Granger. Don’t worry so much about it. It will come in time.”

Hermione wanted to ask what his enigmatic statement meant, but Draco had already moved away to wake Daphne so they could return to the dorms. Hermione wandered over to the window seat and took Draco’s place in the moonlight, troubled by far more than just her breakup.


	22. True Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is troubled and can’t talk to Harry about it. Unfortunately, that only leaves one person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> _“True friendship can afford true knowledge. It does not depend on darkness and ignorance.”_  
>  — Henry David Thoreau

**Chapter 22 - Intervention**  
Ron, Harry, and Hermione had been through numerous fights in their long friendship. Fourth Year, when Harry was chosen as a Triwizard Champion and when Hermione dated Viktor Krum. Sixth Year, because of Ron dating Lavender and Harry’s Slytherin obsession. And that year, when Ron walked out of the tent. In fact, Hermione had become quite used to being angry at Ronald Weasley. However, regardless of what they were going through, there was always one thing that would draw them back together: Harry. When he needed them, they were together at his side.

“I need to talk to you,” Hermione told the red-head, unable to keep the surge of hurt she was feeling from tinging her voice with irritation.

“ _Merlin_ , ‘Mione,” he said, jumping a foot. “I looked all over for you last night.” She believed it; Ron looked like hell. “I’m so sorry-”

“For being a complete ass,” she snapped.

“Yeah. I should have talked to you. Told you what I was feeling.”

Hermione glared at him. “Let me get this straight, _Ronald_. You _aren’t_ apologizing for _cheating_ on me, but for not _talking_ to me about it beforehand!?”

“Yeah. I am.” Ron looked both guilty and defiant. “We were barely even together anymore, Hermione. We didn’t spend any time with each other, and we barely even spoke without fighting. We weren’t happy, neither of us. You know I’m right.”

“That would be a first,” Hermione snapped. She hated it when Ron made mature, logical sense. It went against her whole world view.

“Fine. I’m stupid. I get it. You’ve told me often enough over the years.” Ron stormed off before Hermione could say anything else.

It took four more tries before Hermione could _actually_ say what she wanted. She cornered Ron in the Common Room after dinner. “Can we talk?” she asked, feeling a bit timid after some of the insults they’d thrown at each other over the course of the day.

“Why? Do you want to tell me I’m an idiot again?”

“Of course I do!” Hermione snapped automatically. “But that isn’t what I wanted to talk about.”

“Fine. What’s the latest insult you’ve got for me?”

“I’m worried about Harry.”

All the fight, the _need_ to fight, drained from Ron. It had always been like that for him. No matter what he was feeling about Hermione — or more often, fighting with Hermione about — Harry always came first. Just like third year, when he thought Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers; his fear for Harry melted through much of his anger. However, jealousy never really left him. "He told you, didn’t he?” Ron asked petulantly. He’d been so happy Harry had confided in only him.

“Told me what?”

“About-” he lowered his voice to less than a whisper, forcing Hermione to lean closer to hear. “About the Hallows. That he kept them.”

“He _kept_ them!?” Hermione gasped softly. Harry obviously hadn’t told her. Ron felt smug until he realized he’d betrayed his best friend’s secret. “Why would he keep them? And why didn’t he _tell_ us?”

Ron shrugged. “Snape’s helping him study them.”

“Oh.” Hermione’s thoughts spun rapidly. She had the look on her face that meant the puzzle pieces were starting to come together. It was the same look she wore when she figured out Bellatrix had one of the Horcruxes. “Oh!” she exclaimed as the last piece clicked. “That… makes sense.”

“Mind sharing? Obviously I’m too stupid to figure it out on my own.” The last came out rather bitterly.

Hermione sighed. “You aren’t stupid, Ron. For the record, I’ve never thought you were. You just don’t… try.”

“I didn’t want to.”

“Then how did you expect to make something of yourself?” Hermione bit her lip. She could tell this was about to dissolve into another argument. Ron, though, surprised her. He replied calmly.

“I didn’t, ‘Mione. I… I don’t _want_ the fame and the glory anymore. I’ve had enough of it. I just want… a simple life. Something uncomplicated.”

“And I’m complicated?”

“Infinitely.”

“And Hannah isn’t?”

“No, she’s not. I don’t have to try with her. To be better. She likes me as I am.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said sadly. “I wasn’t trying to change you.”

Ron snorted. “Of course you were. You try to change _everyone_.”

“I don’t _want_ to be that way.”

“I wouldn’t have you be any other,” Ron said with a hesitant smile. “It’s why you are so great; why you’re going to change the world.”

For a moment, Hermione leaned her head on Ron’s shoulder. It was comforting. Familiar. Except… “Hannah’s glaring at you,” she noted. She waited for the jealousy she’d felt when Ron was with Lavender. It didn’t come. Instead, she felt mildly amused. That, more than anything, told her they were truly over. “She’s probably worried we are getting back together.”

“We aren’t, are we?” There was both disappointment and assurance in Ron’s voice.

“No,” Hermione said sadly. “We aren’t.”

“You know… _I’m_ not the only one getting glared at.”

Hermione glanced around the room through her lashes. “Malfoy is just worried about what I’m telling you,” she said after a moment.

“Huh. I was talking about Greengrass, actually.”

“ _Daphne_!?”

“She watches you. A lot. I kinda thought there might be something going on between you two.”

“There’s not,” Hermione said quickly. Too quickly. “Not yet,” she amended. “She kissed me. I’m… not uninterested.”

“Thanks for telling me. You didn’t have to, you know.”

“I know. It seemed somehow… fair.” Hermione hesitated before admitting quietly, “I don’t know what I’d do without your friendship, Ron.”

“Let’s not find out,” Ron replied just as gently. However, he dislodged her from his shoulder before asking “What’s the Ferret worried you’re telling me?”

“He knows that I think Harry’s practicing the Dark Arts,” Hermione whispered. 

“Is he worried he’s going to get in trouble for it?” Ron asked, frowning.

“I don’t think so. He seemed more concerned I was going to judge Harry harshly.”

“Oh,” Ron said, at a loss for words. The prat was worried about someone else? He thought Malfoys looked after their own hides first and foremost. “What makes you think Harry is… you know? And how does _Malfoy_ know about it?”

“I noticed Harry wearing a necklace with a… recognizable symbol on it. Malfoy noticed me… noticing.”

“If Har’ is wearing the feather, at least he’s protecting himself.”

“I didn’t mention it was a feather,” Hermione said, looking at Ron rather suspiciously.

“Despite what the _Malfoys_ think, I _am_ a Pureblood, ‘Mione.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione snapped. “Just because I’m a Muggleborn, I’m not-”

“No. Sorry. That came out wrong,” Ron pleaded. “Look,” he said, “We really shouldn’t be talking ‘bout this here. Meet me in the Room of Requirement in twenty minutes.”

“Why don’t we just go now?”

Ron shifted uncomfortably. “We just broke up, Hermione. If we go off to be alone…”

“Oh! You don’t want Hannah thinking we’re back together?”

“No offense, but yeah. I mean, I already ruined one good thing… I don’t really fancy ruining another.”

The comment made her smile. Perhaps, she decided, her and Ron really would be all right now that they weren’t trying to be more than friends. “I’ll meet you in twenty minutes,” she said. She stood and immediately started for the exit to the Common Room. Okay or not, she didn’t fancy seeing Ron reassuring his new girlfriend. Draco accosted her as soon as she’d gone through the portal.

“What were you two talking about?”

Hermione kept walking. “None of your business.”

“I think it is. I think you were talking about me.”

Hermione scoffed. “Our world does not revolve around you, Malfoy.”

“No. It tends to revolve around Potter.”

“Which makes your conclusion that we were discussing _you_ rather erroneous.”

“The Weasel was glaring at me.”

“The Weas- _Ron_ was glaring at you because you didn’t stop staring at us the whole time.”

“Are you two getting back together?”

Hermione finally stopped walking and turned toward the Slytherin. Why did Malfoy even care? “ _That_ is _certainly_ none of your business.” Something hurt flashed across Draco’s silver eyes. Hermione relented. “But, no, we aren’t.”

“Good. You deserve better than a Weasley.”

Hermione snorted. “I though you said the Weasleys were the only Pureblood family to have me, what with my lack of _proper breeding_ and all.”

“I’m beginning to suspect most Pureblood ideologists are fools.”

“Do you include your father in that assessment, Malfoy? You know he hates me.” This had to be one of the strangest conversations Hermione had been in to date.

“Not for the reasons you think, Granger. Well, at least not entirely. You _do_ impress him.”

“Whatever, Malfoy,” she replied with a shrug. For some reason she didn’t want to admit Lucius wouldn’t even talk to her.

“Father isn’t avoiding you for the reasons you think,” Draco said, as if he knew what Hermione was thinking. “Talk to Mother. You’ll see,” Draco promised. Hermione turned back around to ask Malfoy what, exactly, she was supposed to talk to Narcissa about, but Draco was already hurrying down the hall away from her. With a shrug, Hermione dismissed the odd conversation from her mind and continued to the Room of Requirement. She was disturbed to find the room, again, set itself as the Malfoy’s sitting room.

When Ron entered a few minutes later, a confused Harry was following behind them. “What’s this all about?” he asked, looking back and forth between his two friends.

“I know you’ve been practicing Dark Arts,” Hermione blurted. She cringed at how accusatory it had sounded.

Harry, though, had rounded on his other best friend. “You _told_ her!?” he asked, sounding rather betrayed.

“You _knew_!?” Hermione yelled, also turning toward the red-head.

“Harry and I talked about it the other day,” he said nonchalantly. His words to Harry, however, sounded slightly desperate. “I didn’t tell her a thing, mate. I _may_ have mentioned the Hallows, but only because I thought she already knew. I didn’t say a word about you being a Dark Wizard.”

Hermione gasped loudly.

“Ron… just stop helping me, all right?” Harry asked with a wry grin as he sank into one of the chairs.

“Is it true?” Hermione couldn’t stop the slight waver in her voice.

“Yeah,” Harry said simply. “It’s true.”

“I don’t know what the big deal is,” Ron tossed out as he took his own seat.

“You don’t know what- _Ron_!” Hermione screeched. “Harry just said he’s a Dark Wizard!”

“Yeah. I heard him.”

“Aren’t you the one always going off about how _evil_ Dark Wizards are!?” Harry flinched at Hermione’s question and she immediately regretted it.

Ron just shrugged though. “There are Dark Wizards and then there are… Dark Wizards. It’s hard to explain.

“ _Try_ , Ronald.”

Ron leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “It isn’t something generally talked about.”

Hermione made an irritated noise and prepared to yell at him, but Ron cut her off. “Look,” he said impatiently, “I’m trying here. Just give me a damned minute.”

Hermione snapped her mouth closed with an audible click.

Ron flashed an amused grin. “Why didn’t that work when we were dating?” he asked Harry sotto voce. 

“Doubt you had the bollocks to try it,” Harry pointed out. “I’ve never heard you sound so… _commanding_ unless you were on the pitch.”

“Huh.”

“Enough you two,” Hermione ordered. She was blushing brightly. “Just tell us, Ron,” she added, purposefully making her voice authoritative. 

Ron was obviously searching for the right words to begin. Harry settled back in his squashy chair, prepared to give his friend all the time he needed. Hermione fidgeted nervously.

“No matter how ‘Light’ a family is considered,” Ron finally said, “there will be witches or wizards born who align better with Dark Magic.” 

“Even Weasleys?” Harry asked curiously.

“We are considered a Light Family because there are so few in our history, not because there aren’t _any_. On Dad’s side, I think his Great Aunt Margeret was a Dark Witch. On Mum’s… her brothers.”

“Fabian and Gideon Prewett? Your uncles were Dark Wizards?” Hermione asked incredulously. When Ron nodded she added, “Weren’t they members of the original Order?”

“Damn good ones, too,” Ron said proudly. “It took five Death Eaters to bring them down.”

“But why were they going after Dark Wizards if _they_ were…”

“That’s what I meant by being Dark versus being _Dark_.” Ron stressed the last word. “One of the reasons they were so strong is because they used Dark Protection spells.”

“Apparently, they are quite a bit stronger,” Harry added wryly.

Ron snickered. “You’d know, mate.”

Hermione’s glare was both curious and annoyed. Harry took pity on her. “The spell Mum cast on me to protect me was a Dark Arts spell.” He didn’t mention that he’d unintentionally cast the same spell. On everybody.

“Oh.”

“A witch or wizard who uses Dark Magic to help others isn’t usually _called_ Dark. It’s only when they use it to help themselves, like the Malfoys did, that they start being called Dark Wizards.”

“Bit hypocritical, isn’t it?” Hermione sounded annoyed. There was no question of why; she hated unfairness of _any_ kind.

“It’s where the myth that _intent_ makes a spell Dark came from, isn’t it?” Harry pondered.

“Probably,” Ron admitted. “But really it’s whether or not the spell will make you go mental.”

Harry expected he’d need to explain the statement to Hermione, but the witch was nodding slightly. His eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “How did you know, Hermione? That I was-“

“A Practitioner?” she finished for him. “Your necklace. It’s a peacock feather.”

“But how did you know what that meant?”

“That’s beside the point,” Hermione said haughtily. 

“Daphne told you?” Harry asked with a grin.

“The Greengrass’ are considered rather neutral,” Ron pointed out. “There are Dark Witches or Wizards every generation but they don’t go Dark.”

“Call them Practitioners, Ron. It’s far less confusing,” Hermione advised before adding. “I’m apprenticed to _Lucius Malfoy_. Why does everyone assume it’s _Daphne_ telling me stuff?”

Harry chuckled slightly. “Does Lucius even _talk_ to you?”

“No,” Hermione admitted dejectedly.

“Didn’t think so. I spent several months talking to Narcissa before Lucius ever even said a word to me. And we were _living_ together.”

Hermione straightened from her slump at Harry’s words. Maybe there _was_ a chance her Mentor didn’t completely hate her! It at least gave her a bit of hope. Maybe Draco had been right. “Malfoy — um, the younger one — suggested I ask Narcissa why her husband avoids me.”

“I figured you being Muggleborn was enough of a reason. I mean, he _is_ a Malfoy.” Ron added the last with a bit of disgust.

Harry was shaking his head. “It’s more than that. Lucius _loves_ flaunting what he sees as his superiority. If that’s all it was, he’d be taunting ‘Mione.”

Hermione snorted. “Guess Draco had to learn that somewhere.”

“I’m guessing Lucius is avoiding you because of your glamour,” Harry added.

Hermione clutched her arm to her chest protectively. “You know why I wear it,” she said defensively.

“Yeah, _I_ do. But Lucius doesn’t. All _he_ knows is that your left forearm is covered by the only glamour that will reliably hide curse marks.”

“Blimey! He thinks she’s hiding a Dark Mark!” 

Harry nodded. “The one thing Lucius truly hates, even more than Muggles, is a traitor.”

“Funny, considering who his best mate is.”

Harry glanced at his best friend. “He doesn’t actually consider Snape a traitor. I think it’s a Slytherin thing.”

“How _couldn’t_ he?” Hermione asked in disbelief. “I mean, Professor Snape changed sides. He was a _spy_ , for Merlin’s sake!”

“But he never denied being a Death Eater,” Harry pointed out. “That’s important for some reason. They don’t seem to care that he switched sides because he doesn’t deny what side he was originally on. It’s people like Wormtail, who never openly admitted to being a Death Eater, who they consider traitors.”

“Kind of ironic, really, since Malfoy only escaped Azkaban the first time by claiming _Imperious_.”

“Actually-” Harry cut himself off and looked away, biting his lip.

“You know something!? Come on, Har’, spill,” Ron said with relish.

“You _can’t_ tell _anyone_.” Harry waited for the nods. “All right, then. I was talking to Narcissa one night when I couldn’t sleep. She told me Lucius never wanted to be a Death Eater.”

“That’s bollocks,” Ron retorted. “The Malfoys were prime Death Eater material. They believed _everything_ Voldie stood for.”

“I didn’t say he didn’t believe in the cause, just that he never wanted to be a Death Eater.” Harry leaned forward and lowered his voice even though there was no one around to overhear. “Apparently, his father, Abraxas Malfoy, was a big supporter of Grindelwald. After Dumbledore defeated him, the Malfoys took a bit of a hit for being on the wrong side. Lucius didn’t want the same thing to happen again.”

“Are you saying _Voldemort_ cast _Imperio_ on him to force him to take the Dark Mark?” Hermione asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.

“That’s barking, mate. What would ol’ snake face want with _Malfoy_ that badly?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think Voldemort did it. I think Lucius’ dad did.”

“His own son!? That’s horrible!” Hermione looked, and sounded, outraged. It reminded Harry of Narcissa.

“She didn’t _specifically_ say that’s what happened, but I got the feeling, you know? Narcissa would get _really_ mad whenever she mentioned Abraxas Malfoy. Nothing makes Narcissa angrier than someone abusing the trust between family.”

For some reason, Hermione flushed and let out a small soundless, ‘Oh.’ Harry started to ask her what was wrong, but Ron cut him off.

“What happened to Abraxas?” he asked bluntly. “I would’ve thought Malfoy would kill him for something like that.”

“Don’t be absurd, Ron,” Hermione said tartly. “I heard Slughorn say he died of Dragon Pox.”

“Bit old for that, wasn’t he? I thought only babes _died_ of Dragon Pox.”

Harry didn’t point out that having a Potions Master as a best friend probably helped the matter along. Instead, he changed the subject by asking Hermione what Lucius _was_ teaching her if they never talked. Hermione immediately began an animated account of all the books she’d been studying.

Ron gave him a pointed look, clearly saying Harry’s ploy hadn’t fooled him. Harry gave an unrepentant grin. Asking Hermione what book she was reading was a sure fire way to avoid a topic; just like mentioning Quidditch to Ron.

The Trio sat in the Room of Requirement and talked until curfew. No more mentions of Malfoys, Snape, or Dark Magic were made and nobody mentioned that Ron and Hermione had just broken up the day before. Not even when Ron talked about Hannah or Hermione kept mentioning Daphne. It was almost like old times.


	23. The Way to Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione decides there needs to be better understanding between her and her Mentors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _'Don’t believe what your eyes are telling you. All they show is limitation. Look with your understanding, find out what you already know, and you’ll see the way to fly.'_ \-- RIchard Bach

** Chapter 23 — The Way to Fly **

Hermione placed the book she was reading down and took the cup of tea Narcissa offered her. Instead of immediately resuming her studies, she looked at the older witch. “May I ask you a question?” she inquired politely.

“Of course, dear.”

“Do you think I betrayed my parents?”

Narcissa froze, obviously startled by the question. Her fingers tightened on the hoop of the needlework she was doing before she carefully set it aside. The look she gave her young protégé was genuinely fond. “You cast a spell on them, to change who they were, without their consent.” Hermione flushed guilty but didn’t interrupt to justify her action. “I’m certain you’re motives were altruistic, though, so I doubt I would consider it a betrayal.”

Hermione let out a sigh of relief and smiled gratefully. “They never really understood. About the war,” she explained. “They knew about it peripherally, of course, and they knew my best friend played a large role in it. But they didn’t really understand _they_ were in danger.”

“Anyone close to Harry was, as were their loved ones.”

“Ron and I talked about it at the end of our Sixth Year, once we knew we weren’t coming back to Hogwarts. He knew what I planned to do, but we didn’t tell Harry.”

“Why not?”

“Harry _hated_ people being at risk because of him. Ron and I agreed that the Weasleys could protect themselves when we… disappeared. But my parents are Muggles. They wouldn’t have been able to do anything if Death Eaters or the Ministry decided to question them about our whereabouts.”

“I would’ve thought Harry would condone your actions. It meant there would be two less people for him to feel responsible for.”

“We didn’t want him to protect the Dursleys,” Hermione blurted. She flinched at how ruthless she sounded. “It wasn’t that we wanted them dead or anything,” she explained further. “Well, Ron did. A bit. But Harry would’ve felt obligated to try to protect them in the same way if he knew my idea. They wouldn’t have let him. We were worried how his uncle would react if Harry tried anyway.”

“You cast the spell on your parents to protect them and you didn’t tell your friend to protect him. Am I correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you worried I would judge you for this?”

“I know how much family means to you.” Hermione looked into Narcissa’s pale blue eyes. “I’m a good daughter,” she said adamantly.

“I’m sure you are, my dear.” Narcissa gave her hand a reassuring pat. “You are also a good friend.”

“I am,” she promised. Then, Hermione saw the opening for the other question she wanted to ask. “Professor Malfoy doesn’t believe I am, does he?”

“Call him Lucius, dear,” Narcissa said absently. “He detests being reminded he is a professor.” Hermione blushed. “As for his feelings regarding your friendship with Harry… I believe he has some concerns.”

“Because of this,” Hermione stated bluntly, rolling back the long sleeves of her robe to expose her glamoured forearm. 

“Yes.”

Hermione stared at her slippered feet as she cast a wandless _Revelo_. She heard Narcissa gasp. “It was carved with a cursed blade. We couldn’t figure out… without the counter-curse, it couldn’t be healed properly.”

Narcissa took the outstretched arm gently, her fingers trailing along the sensitive scar. “My sister did this, didn’t she?”

Hermione nodded, still not looking at the woman. “When we were captured at the Manor.”

“I remember Bella sent the boys to the cellar. She wanted to talk to you alone.”

“Girl-to-girl,” Hermione said bitterly.

“She couldn’t question Harry. All the Death Eaters knew he belonged to the Dark Lord. And, although she didn’t think much of Blood Traitors, the Weasley boy _is_ a pureblood. The Dark Lord disapproved of unsanctioned violence against his potential followers.”

“Lucky me. I was the only one left.” She gave an uncaring shrug. “It’s a bit ironic, really. She only questioned me because she thought we’d robbed her vault.”

“And I do believe you did,” Narcissa pointed out, sounding amused.

“Afterwards. Her reaction was what made me realize she had the artifact we needed.”

“Yes, she was quite distraught when she thought she’d lost the Horcrux.” Hermione startled, as she did any time somebody other than her, Ron, or Harry mentioned the Horcruxes. Narcissa, though, took no notice. “Unfortunately, Bella’s madness was both rash and paranoid. A rather unhealthy combination. Azkaban only made it worse.” 

Hermione couldn’t help it, she stared at the witch in shock. “You knew she was mad?”

“Of course I did. She was my sister.”

“Didn’t she have a Grounder?” Hermione asked. She immediately realized how personal the question was and apologized. “Forgive my rudeness. I know that is none of my business.”

“Quite alright, my dear. It simply surprised me is all.” Narcissa seemed slightly shaken, though. “It seems young Daphne gave you more than simple fashion advice.”

“I don’t know much about Practitioners. The subject is on my mind, though, so my curiosity led me past the bounds of propriety.”

“Something I’m certain must happen to you often, Hermione.” Narcissa chuckled, though her heart didn’t seem to be in it. “Just as I’m sure your keen mind helps you learn quite a bit using such an excuse.”

“Some, yes. And again, I’m sorry.”

Narcissa nodded and absently continued to pat Hermione’s arm. “The taint of the Dark Arts effects individuals differently. Not every Practitioner is equally susceptible to it. The madness, though, it ran in the Black Family. My father, sister, and my Aunt Walburga all succumbed to it.” Hermione nodded, not surprised in the least by the last name added. Grimmauld Place was, thankfully, free of Walburga’s portrait. Narcissa had convinced the Black Matriarch she would be in far better company if she allowed her portrait to be moved to Malfoy Manor. Hermione now understood why Harry had been so amused that the painting of the insane witch had been given a place of honor… next to Abraxas Malfoy in the ancestral gallery.

“It is possible Sirius suffered from the family curse as well. And Reg… he was so young when he died… we’d never even know.”

“Sirius was a Practitioner?” Hermione asked, clearly shocked.

“No, I don’t believe so.” Narcissa seemed to be unable to shake her melancholy thoughts. Hermione placed her hand over the one on her arm in silent reassurance. “In all likelihood his… bond with the werewolf had a few negative effects. As did his time in Azkaban.” 

“Oh.”

“Poppy had just begun as a nurse here when I was a student. I wasn’t much younger than you, in fact. She found my Healing ability and wanted me to be trained in it. She said it was rare for the gift to present itself so strongly. I took it as a sign. I refused her apprenticeship and devoted myself to trying to find better ways to heal the taint of the Dark Arts. I was, unfortunately, unsuccessful in regards to most of my family.”

“I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories,” Hermione apologized.

Narcissa squeezed her arm lightly before slipping her hand out from under Hermione’s. “Unfortunately, the rest must wait until another time.” She rose gracefully. “I must see to the house elves about dinner.”

“I will let myself out.” Hermione put the closed book back on the shelf reserved for the tomes she was currently studying. When she turned back to the room, Narcissa was already gone.

 

****

*************

Hogwarts was in a tizzy as it neared Halloween. McGonagall announced Hogwarts would be holding a Masquerade. Several Ministry officials would be in attendance in order to meet the Fifth House students. Seventh Years were the only other students who would be allowed to attend. The apprentices were all horribly excited, both at the prospect of the Masquerade and at being able to meet prospective connections outside the school. Harry, of course, wanted to hide in a corner until it was over. Not only was Halloween his _least_ favorite holiday, now he was expected to go to a _ball_. It was Fourth Year all over again!

Regrettably, _this_ time his friends were actually excited about it. As soon as the dance was announced, Ron began to fret. He wanted to take Hannah, but he was still nervous about upsetting Hermione. She’d told him it wouldn’t bother her, but he clearly didn’t believe her. When he’d asked, for the fifth time in an hour, if she was mad at him, Hermione snapped. “No, Ronald, I’m not mad at you!” she yelled. “But I’m _trying_ to study. Now leave me alone and _actually_ ask Hannah before someone else does!”

Unfortunately — or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it — they were in the middle of the Common Room at the time. Hannah, across the room, looked stunned. And rather pink in embarrassment. She did, finally, smile. “I’d be glad to go with you, Ron,” she announced.

Ron not-so-subtly winked at Harry. “At least I got out of having to ask,” the red-head whispered. 

Several days later, Hermione found herself in Mandy and Lisa’s room, drinking wine Daphne had smuggled into the dorms, and gossiping about the upcoming Masque. All the Fifth House girls were there and they were all in various stages of intoxication. Hermione was a bit surprised how much _fun_ she was having even though they were all ragging on her a bit.

Lavender, cheeks rosy from too much alcohol, had been arguing with Hermione for some time. “You _have_ to go with some one,” she stated, yet again. “You _can’t_ let Ron think you didn’t because of him!”

“It’s not, is it?” Hannah asked worriedly.

“Of course not,” Hermione said primly. “I just don’t want the hassle of worrying over a date.”

“You should ask Harry,” Daphne advised. “Sort of like having a date but not.”

“Which is why you are going with Malfoy instead of Zabini,” Hermione pointed out, earning herself a pillow in the face from the Slytherin.

“Blaise and I are a thing of the past,” Daphne declared airily. Hermione snorted into the pillow. Daphne, she knew, carried quite a torch for Zabini. She’d just never admit it.

“I don’t know what the big deal is,” Hermione said, pushing the pillow away and waving her glass of wine around precariously. “You don’t _have_ to have a date! Look at Lav and Pavarti!”

“We have a date, thank you very much,” Lavender said haughtily.

“The _same_ date,” Padma pointed out. “I can’t believe Wayne agreed to take _both_ of you,” she added, laughing at her twin.

“And they said _Gryffindor_ was the House of the Brave.” Daphne smirked. “Hopkins must have been mis-sorted because that Hufflepuff has gumption.”

Everyone giggled at the girl’s antics.

“What about you and Lisa?” Hermione asked Mandy. “Are you two going together?”

Mandy nodded. “We’re a bit nervous about it, actually.”

Lisa smiled at her girlfriend. “We discussed going with Terry and Justin but decided against it. All four of us are going with our established partners.”

“I think that’s wonderful!” Hermione exclaimed. Though homosexuality was well tolerated in the Wizarding World, it was something generally kept to the _private_ sphere. Same sex partners rarely made public appearances together.

“It will be our last chance to dance together at Hogwarts,” Lisa said, gazing at Mandy with a sappy smile.

“I think it takes courage,” Daphne announced loudly. “Ravens _and_ Puffs are showing up the Gryffindors now!”

Hermione stood and grabbed the inebriated Slytherin. “We’ll be right back,” she told the room, pulling Daphne through the lavatory into her own room. She closed the separating door with a _crash_ and rounded on her friend. “What is your problem with Gryffindors tonight?” she asked irritably.

“Only one Gryffindor in particular,” Daphne grumbled.

“What did I do?” Hermione asked, genuinely curious.

“It’s more about what you _didn’t_ do.”

Then, Daphne was kissing her. Mouth hot and wet, tongue tinged with the crisp taste of wine. Small, slender hands threaded into Hermione’s hair, holding her gently. Daphne’s soft breasts rubbed against Hermione as she was pushed backwards into the door. Daphne moaned softly before pulling away and burying her face in Hermione’s shoulder. “We can’t do this,” she panted.

“Why not?” Hermione asked, just as breathless. “Because of Blaise?”

Daphne nodded miserably before she pushed herself off the door and moved away from Hermione. Hermione felt the loss immediately; loss of warmth, loss of the soft, feminine body pressing against hers, and loss of the support which had been keeping her knees from collapsing. Hermione walked unsteadily to her bed. “There’s more going on between you and Zabini then you’ve told me, isn’t there?” Hermione asked. Daphne gave a miserable looking nod. Hermione tapped the spot on the bed next to her. “Come on. You can tell me about it.”

Daphne collapsed next to her and rested her head on Hermione’s shoulder. “We went to the Yule Ball together,” she whispered. “Gods, I was so in love with him. And him, me.”

“What happened?”

“My siblings told my parents about it. They’d seen us together while they were here for the tournament. Nobody in my family knew I was even seeing someone, much less that it was serious.”

“Were your parents upset you hadn’t told them?”

Daphne simply nodded.

“What did they do?”

“They arranged a marriage for me.”

“Oh my god! They are making you marry someone else!”

“No. They arranged for me to marry Blaise! It was awful! I was so _mad_ at them!”

Hermione started to laugh until she realized Daphne was genuinely upset. “Why is it so awful? I mean… I’ve seen the way you look at him. You _want_ to marry Blaise, don’t you?”

She felt Daphne nod against her shoulder. “And he says he wants to marry me, too. _Someday_. But he didn’t want to be tied down when he was only fourteen. So we made an agreement to date other people while still in school.”

“You mean he decided and you agreed.”

“No. We _both_ agreed. At first. But then, every time I was with somebody I felt guilty because I was only using them. I mean, nothing _serious_ was going to come of any relationship I started. It didn’t seem _fair_.”

Hermione shrugged her shoulder, forcing Daphne to sit up slightly. She ran her hand up from the girl’s arm, trailing it along the soft skin of Daphne’s neck. She tilted the Slytherin’s chin, forcing her to meet her eyes. “Part of me thought I was going to marry Ron,” she said quietly. “Though another part of me knew it was a supremely _bad_ idea.” She stretched up and touched her lips lightly to the side of Daphne’s mouth, just as Daphne had done the first time they’d kissed. “I guess… what I’m saying is… right now, I’m not looking for forever after,” she finished, kissing her chastely again. She could feel Daphne’s heartbeat pulsing rapidly under her palm.

“Are you serious?” Hope shone brightly in her pale green eyes. Entranced by them, Hermione simply nodded. Daphne squealed and sat up. She peppered Hermione’s face with feather-light kisses before falling sideways across the Gryffindor’s lap, laughing. “Merlin! Blaise is going to flip when he realizes I’m dating another girl!”

Hermione’s best friends were Ron and Harry. She was all too familiar with the male adolescent fantasies about two witches together. “Oh, I definitely think we can make Blaise Zabini take notice,” she said with a smirk worthy of any Slytherin.

Daphne was still giggling as she rolled and pulled Hermione on top of her.

 

****

*************

“I see you are still here, Ms. Granger.”

Hermione looked up from her notes, slightly panicked. “Sorry, sir,” she apologized to her Mentor quickly. “I was hoping to finish rereading this section.”

She was a bit surprised when Lucius didn’t sneer and leave. Instead, he moved into the room, and slid gracefully into his chair. He leaned forward, slightly, as he prepared himself a cup of tea from the tray Narcissa had left sitting on the low table in front of the couch. “How far into the tome are you?” he asked as he prepared his cup. Hermione watched his gloved hands intently. Every moment was slow and precise. Elegant and sensual. Narcissa moved the same way, as did Daphne. It made Hermione feel clumsy and oafish.

She pulled her eyes away and blushed as Lucius smirked at her. She wondered if he was purposefully stirring his tea longer than normal as she tried to gather her thoughts so she could answer his question. “Aurelius just found out Perenelle ordered the sacrifice at Stoatshead Hill.”

“He was quite rightfully angered by her actions,” Lucius replied, still slowly moving his spoon through the milky liquid.

“It ensured his knights were protected when he sent them against Bangerdash’s forces. Bangerdash’s Engineers would’ve defeated him otherwise, which would’ve turned the war to the Goblin’s favor.”

“Aurelius’ almost lost the campaign regardless. His men might have been safe, but they’d lost their reason for fighting.”

“‘ _One must carry hope into battle; the mirage of peace and the memory of a welcoming embrace_ ’,” Hermione quoted. She’d loved that passage in the Book of Hours and had already read it repeatedly.

The corner of Lucius’ lips tilted up slightly. “‘ _The dream of every soldier is to lay down their wand victorious and leave their Liege’s side for the one place they truly belong: home_ ’.” Lucius studied Hermione curiously after finishing the quote. “Sage council,” he said. “Do you believe his words influenced Flamel?”

“Yes,” Hermione said confidently. “Sir Nicholas was sent to arrest Perenelle but he didn’t. He bonded with her instead, even though it went against his Lord’s wishes.”

“But Aurelius relented. He pardons Perenelle. She, along with her husband, become his advisors. They were the guiding influence in stopping the rebellion.”

“I was surprised by their involvement,” Hermione admitted. “The Flamels fought on Dumbledore’s side of the war between Light and Dark.”

“Perenelle was, understandably, haunted by the events at Stoatshead Hill. She turned her back on the Dark Arts. She wrote a treatise against them that is quite a fascinating read. In it, she hypothesizes that the Arts became tainted because Wizards did not deserve to be given such power if we did not know how to use it responsibly. She believed the denizens of other realms closed the gateways because we were deemed… unworthy.”

Hermione ducked her head, hiding a smile. It was easy to tell how much Lucius disliked Perenelle’s observation. However, she could also hear more than a hint of respect in the aristocrat’s drawl. He might disagree, but he obviously thought quite a bit of Perenelle’s power and intelligence. “It’s a shame they are going to die.”

“When you study history, Ms. Granger, you must accept the end of those whose lives you become engrossed in.”

“I know. And normally it wouldn’t bother me.” She bit her lip slightly. “It’s just strange, knowing the Flamels are still alive and that they destroyed the only Philosopher’s Stone left.”

“It is one thing to hear they are over six hundred years old, and quite another to learn details of their achievements. The Flamels will be mourned, in many circles of society.”

“Harry met them both. After the war. He said they were wonderful.”

“I remember. Harry returned from the meeting rather distraught. Narcissa had quite a time soothing him. My son, on the other hand, became a rather atrocious brat for several days. I believe it was a misguided attempt to anger Harry so he’d quit sulking over misplaced guilt.”

“What about you, sir? Did you comfort him at all?”

“I did not deserve to.” Lucius rose from his chair as smoothly as he’d taken it. Hermione frowned as she watched the Death Eater suddenly walk away.

Lucius surprised her again by returning to his chambers for lunch the next day. Hermione was skipping the meal in the Great Hall, choosing instead to dine privately with Narcissa. The two witches had spent most of the morning discussing Hermione’s dress for the upcoming Masque. Lucius didn’t say anything; he simply watched his wife’s animated display as she discussed possible fashions with Hermione.

“Ms. Granger,” he finally drawled softly. “According to our contract, I am to teach you of Wizarding History, Law, and Etiquette.”

“Yes, sir.”

“This Ball represents a unique opportunity to test you in one of those areas.”

“Sir?”

“I would like to request that you join us for a formal dinner before the festivities.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well, then. I will leave you ladies to your planning.” He kissed Narcissa’s hand lovingly before leaving.

 

****

*************

Harry was not at all surprised that demonstration days tended to be the students’ favorite classes. However, he was a bit shocked how much Snape let them get away with on those days. They tended to be rowdier, occasionally acting as if they were watching a Quidditch match instead of a dueling demonstration. Especially the NEWT classes. The Seventh Year students had started a betting pool on how long it would take Harry to actually beat their Professor. It was mainly being run by the Slytherins, but Harry suspected his ex-girlfriend was behind it. Ginny _did_ tend to take after the twins in some rather devilish ways.

Harry had, of course, expected Snape of being ignorant of the wagers. Once again, he’d underestimated his Mentor. “Mr. Potter,” Snape sneered as they stood at opposite ends of the platform. “Do you happen to know what today is?”

“Friday, sir,” Harry said confidently, though he knew _that_ wasn’t what Snape was asking.

The corner of Snape’s lip twitched before he masked off the emotion. “As of today, we will have demonstrated three duels before this class,” Snape informed him. “Mr. Calburt,” he barked, “What are the odds of the third time being the charm?”

The Slytherin in question laughed. “Normally, Professor, they’re pretty good. This time… not so much. Most the wagers don’t have Potter beating you before Christmas.”

Harry gaped at his professor, astounded that the man was _encouraging_ bets on the outcome of their duels. Snape was, of course, smirking at him and looking entirely too amused. Harry sent him a mock scowl, which just seemed to amuse Snape more. 

When the duel began, Harry threw himself into it completely. He was a bit irked none of his classmate thought he could beat Snape, though he tended to agree with them about it. Still, they should have a _bit_ more faith in him. He poured all of his energy into the fight, trying to prove them wrong. He jumped, dodged, rolled, weaved and shielded. Unfortunately, he was entirely on the defensive. Only occasionally did he get to fire a spell _at_ Snape. His casting was mainly non-verbal and wandless as well. Every now and then, to strengthen a spell, he’d cast it normally. Or, well, sometimes simply because he forgot. But he was holding his own, though he didn’t appear to be making any headway. 

Half an hour in, he heard murmurs that indicated the students were at least impressed by his stamina. Snape had been pushing him hard the entire time and very few spells were getting past Harry’s defenses, and those that did were rather harmless jinxes that Harry thought it was easier to let hit than block. Unfortunately, he was sweaty, tired, and running out of ideas. Then, he noticed something that gave him a rejuvenated burst of energy.

Snape cast a strong _Reducto_ at him, forcing Harry to leap out of the way as he didn’t have time to counter it. Unfortunately, in his exhaustion, Harry leapt into the corner of Snape’s desk, slamming his side against it with a painful sounding crunch. For a brief moment, Snape’s onslaught of attacks wavered. He looked at his apprentice with concern filled eyes. Then, just as quickly, he fired off another hex. Harry, though, had noticed the brief pause. He continued to duck and dodge the more destructive curses, but every now and then he’d let a minor one hit. Inevitably, Snape would hesitate before casting again, as if he needed to assure himself Harry was unharmed.

Harry saw his opening when Snape fired a rather weak Jelly-Legs Jinx at him. It hit, right on target, and Harry wobbled. Instead of countering the jinx, Harry allowed the loss of balance, though he didn’t intend to crack his elbow on a chair as he fell. Still, he managed, during the fall, to cast a _Diffindo_ at his Professor while Snape was unprepared. He grinned, triumphant, when he heard the startled and awed shout of, “First blood to Potter!”

Unfortunately, he also took his eyes off Snape to see if any money was changing hands. It wasn’t too much of a surprise that he was swept off his feet even as he did so. Green sparks shot into the air before Harry even had a chance to sit up.

“Very good, Potter,” his mentor said, extending a hand to help Harry back to his feet. 

Harry smiled at the compliment. “You know I’m _never_ going to win if you keep ending the duel right when I get the upper hand.”

Snape smirked. “Indeed.”

“Bastard,” Harry grumbled good-naturedly. Unfortunately, he said it loud enough that the students in the first row heard him. They gave startled gasps, then openly gaped when Snape _didn’t_ reprimand his apprentice for language. Harry continued to grin up at his Mentor, uncaring of their audience. “You’re developing a tell, sir,” he informed his teacher.

Snape stared at him, and Harry knew he was replaying the duel in his head. He looked a bit startled, but his deep voice was filled with an odd acceptance when he said, “I suppose I am, Potter.”

Harry’s smile grew. The quiet admission was enough of a victory for Harry.

****

*************

On Friday, when Hermione entered Lucius’ study to leave her scrolls, she saw her Mentor for the third time in a single week. He sat at his desk, rather casually sipping a brandy. He had no scrolls to grade in front of him and there was only one book sitting on his desk. It was closed. Hermione had the distinct impression the aristocrat was waiting for her.

“Ms. Granger,” Lucius began as always, “You’ve been quite the topic of conversation at my dinner table as of late.”

“I’m sorry?” Hermione said, uncertain of how she was supposed to respond to such a statement.

Lucius chuckled softly. “It seems my wife has grown quite fond of you.”

“The feeling is entirely mutual, sir.”

“Something I am rather pleased to hear.” Hermione looked at him in disbelief, but Lucius seemed sincere. “At her request,” he continued, “I have decided to broaden your area of study.” He slid it across the desk toward Hermione. “Beginning next week, you may reference from this tome as well.” 

Hermione reverently traced the emblem on the cover. It was almost identical to the other reference she used, but the image of the book on the cover was reversed, showing the spine instead of the pages. The Malfoy Family Crest was placed where the title would normally be. “I am honored, sir.”

“I assume you recognize the difference?”

“The emblem is reversed, the pages hidden. It means the books it references are part of a private collection, one not registered with the Ministry archives.”

“Very good, Ms. Granger.” He seemed impressed, but like with everything Lucius did, Hermione had difficulty deciding if it was genuine. “On Monday, I want you to study two specific spells. The _Sacrificium Amantium_ ritual and the _Impedit Curationis_ curse.”

Hermione recognized the first spell. It was the rite Perenelle and the village wives of Stoatshead Hill used. However, she was unfamiliar with the curse. “I don’t believe I have read any references to _Impedit Curationis_.”

“I’m rather certain you haven’t. It was used during the Burning Times, to mark those witches and wizards who testified against their brethren. It fell out of use until quite recently. The curse enchants a weapon and is used to permanently scar one’s enemies.”

Hermione’s hand froze where it had still been idly tracing the worn cover of the tome. Lucius had just told her the spell Bellatrix had used on her. “Thank you, sir,” she said in a heartfelt whisper.

“The counter-curse will not remove the scar, but it will allow the wound to heal naturally.”

“I don’t want to remove it,” Hermione said, surprising both Lucius and herself. Once said, though, she knew it was true. “I don’t need to deny who I am or where I’ve been. We… we all bear the marks of our pasts.”

The steel in Lucius’ eyes wavered, and he gave Hermione a considering look. She’d seen the same expression in Draco’s eyes once, when they were talking to Salazar for the first time. ‘ _I like that you don’t deny who you were_ ,’ she’d said.

She didn’t look at her Mentor as she rose from the rickety chair. She stopped at the door and looked at the aristocrat over her shoulder. “Have a nice weekend, sir,” she said, dipping her head to hide her smile. It seemed she was finally beginning to understand Malfoys.

******************  
The story of the Flamels is not a major element in this story, but I liked it here for some reason. The spell Perenelle used, though, will be mentioned again.

_Sacrificium amantium_ — Sacrifice of Lovers

_impedit curationis_ — impediment to healing


	24. Hermione's Worst Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has always had difficulty sleeping. Mini-chapter written for SMC for being the 200th reviewer on HPFandom.

**Interlude — Hermione’s worst nightmare**  
When Hermione was little, years before she even knew she was a witch, she’d had a nightmare. She was sitting in her primary school classroom and her teacher, Mrs. Ellison, was calling on her to answer a math question. She opened her mouth to answer… and blanked. She completely forgot how to do the basic multiplication problem. The entire class had laughed at her and she’d woken up crying.

The nightmares didn’t get any better as she grew older. If anything, they got worse. At Hogwarts, she not only had to deal with intimidating professors such as Snape or McGonagall, she was also best friends with Harry Potter. On many an occasion, a wrong answer could’ve meant life or death, or in the very least maiming. Because of this, it was not uncommon for Hermione to wake gasping for breath and terrified after a simple nightmare about a test.

Then, she’d begun to apprentice under Lucius Malfoy, a man who she had no doubt wanted her dead at one time. Was it any wonder the nightmare had returned with a vengeance? After the rather enjoyable - and surprisingly cordial - conversations they’d had over the past week, Hermione hoped her nightmares about Lucius would cease somewhat. Which was why she was a bit perturbed to fall asleep and realize what dream she was trapped in.

Hermione was in the cold, impersonal office all by herself, flipping through the pages of a large tome on Lucius’ desk. She kept glancing at the door, fearful of being caught snooping by her Mentor. She knew she _shouldn’t_ be there, and she wasn’t entirely certain why she _was_. However, instead of getting up out of the uncomfortable student chair and leaving, she continued to read the accursed book. Of course, that was when she became aware she was no longer alone in the room.

“Ms. Granger,” the smooth voice drawled, sending shivers down her back and causing gooseflesh to appear on her arm. “Might I ask what you believe you are doing in _my_ office?”

Hermione spun around, hiding her fear, but unable to mask her guilt. “Reading, sir,” she answered a bit breathlessly.

“What, precisely, are you reading, Ms. Granger?”

Normally, in her dream, this was where Hermione would blank. She would try to recall what she’d just read in the pages of the large tome and instead would let out a terrified squeak. The dream usually varied from there. Once, Lucius had failed her and succeeded in getting her kicked out of Hogwarts. Another time, he’d become irate and _Crucio_ ’ed her before carving ‘ _Failure_ ’ into her arm. In yet _another_ version of the nightmare, he’d loudly stated during dinner in the Great Hall that he had no clue why anyone would declare a witch like her to be the brightest of the age when she couldn’t even summarize a paragraph of a book. The entire Hall had, of course, jeered at the embarrassed Gryffindor.

The nightmare was no different this time. She opened her mouth to answer and had been unable to utter a word. She glanced at the desk in horror, praying something would come to her. The book now sat closed, mocking her with its blank, worn leather cover. Tears blurred in her eyes, and she blinked them away, staring at the book. As her vision swam back into focus, a symbol shimmered on the front of the book for a brief second. “The Dark Arts,” she whispered, recognizing the symbol as something she’d been warned about during Runes.

“Honestly, Ms. Granger?” Lucius asked in a bored drawl. “I am expected to believe _you_ would be studying the Dark Arts?”

“Yes,” she breathed, relieved to have an answer for once.

“Very well,” her Mentor said softly, “I will teach you.”

Hermione looked up into the Death Eater’s face in surprise. Lucius’ eyes were steel, boring into her, and the small smile he wore was cold. She wanted to say ‘ _Never mind_ ’ or better yet, ‘ _Get the fuck away from me_.’ But when she opened her mouth what came out was, “Thank you, sir.”

“Follow me, then,” he ordered, guiding her to the door that led to the main sitting room. However, when they stepped through, the sitting room wasn’t there. Instead, they entered a dark chamber, lit only by a single candle. Lucius stood in center of the small circle of light. It haloed him, making him almost look angelic, if not for the sinister tilt of his lips as he studied her.

“What do you know of the Dark Arts, Ms. Granger?”

“Nothing, sir,” Hermione whispered, the words almost choking her.

“Very good.”

It seemed, for once, ignorance was the correct response.

Lucius stepped away from the candle and immediately melted into the shadows; a feat that was infeasible with his pale hair, but was, apparently, not impossible. “Are you aware of what my duties for the Dark Lord entailed?” Lucius drawled quietly from behind her. Hermione spun, but the Death Eater was no longer there.

“No,” she answered, though in reality she did. She’d helped Kingsley and Harry with the trial and had read of the crimes Lucius had committed in detail; she’d been horrified by how fascinating she found his methods.

“I was one of the Dark Lord’s favored torturers, second only to Bellatrix.”

Hermione nodded; she’d known that on some level which didn’t seem to exist in this dream. She looked around her warily, trying to guess where Lucius was by his voice alone. All she could see were shadows. When he spoke again, his voice somehow whispered in her ear. Unfortunately, it was accompanied by the warmth of breath on her neck, letting Hermione know he was indeed right behind her again.

“Unlike my dear sister-in-law, though, I do not enjoy pain or bloodshed.” A gloved hand brushed against her neck, and she shuddered to feel the tip of Lucius’ wand trail slowly down her spine. “Pleasure is the flip side of such a coin, Ms. Granger,” he informed her in his smooth drawl. “Pleasure so intense it is almost pain. Pleasure that will not cease or release until _I_ chose it to. Pleasure that will keep you on edge, gasping, crying, and praying for completion. Have you ever felt such pleasure, Ms. Granger?”

Hermione tried to answer, but she found that _now_ she seemed to have lost the ability to form vocal responses. She shook her head, though, in both answering Lucius’ question and trying to deny this dream was even taking place.

“ _Creşterea senzaţie_ ,” Lucius intoned softly in her ear. Warmth spread from the line his wand had drawn on her back, outward into her limbs. It pulsed and throbbed, moving over her in cascading waves. The pure sensation of the feeling caused Hermione to arch back, up on her toes, body held as tight as a string. She would’ve fallen if not for the strong arm that wrapped her waist and the broad chest against her back.

“The spell is slowly stimulating the various nerves in your body that are associated with pleasure,” Lucius informed her in his silky drawl. “It will continue to increase in intensity and frequency for as long as I hold the spell.”

Hermione gave the only response she could: she whimpered.

“It is actually the precursor to the _Cruciatus_ Curse and is just as capable of causing insanity. What do you think of the Dark Arts now, Ms. Granger?”

This time, the answer was right there on the tip of her tongue. “ _More_ ,” she moaned.

Lucius’ chilling laughter echoed through the empty chamber. “ _Mai mult_.” 

Hermione screamed and shuddered in her Mentor’s arms. Her almost violent shivers ripped her from the embrace… and she sat up in bed gasping for breath. A glance around showed her room in Fifth House. Hannah’s bed was, unsurprisingly, empty. Daphne was curled up next to her. She sank back down into the pillows and tried to ignore her pounding heartbeat. Wrapping her arm around Daphne’s waist, she curled up into the soft, warm body and tried to return to sleep. She shouldn’t talk about Dark Arts before bed, Hermione decided. As she drifted off to sleep, part of her hoped for her normal nightmare to return. It was far less confusing.

*****************  
As always, thank you Google Translator. Don’t ask why, but I decided the spells should be in Romanian this time.  
 _creşterea senzaţie_ — Increase of Sensation  
 _mai mult_ — more


	25. Best described by Fairy Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Hogwarts’ Masquerade approaching, Fifth House takes a night off to prepare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“You can understand and relate to most people better if you look at them -- no matter how old or impressive they may be -- as if they are children. For most of us never really grow up or mature all that much -- we simply grow taller. O, to be sure, we laugh less and play less and wear uncomfortable disguises like adults, but beneath the costume is the child we always are, whose needs are simple, whose daily life is still best described by fairy tales.” --Leo Rosten_   
> 

** Chapter 25 — Best Described by Fairy Tales **

“I don’t even have a costume yet,” Harry whined _the day before_ the Masquerade. Hermione attempted to glare at him but failed as soon as she looked at him. Instead, she gave an annoyed sigh. At least her vocal responses still worked around her best friend. She just wished she could stop _staring_ at him.

“I don’t think you have to worry about it too much, mate,” Ron said helpfully. “Nobody is going to be looking at your clothes.” Ron smirked. “Not if ‘Mione’s reaction is anything to go by.”

“I can’t help it,” Hermione complained, blushing furiously. “They are _gorgeous_. Snape really should’ve fixed your eyes _years_ ago.”

“He said he didn’t like me back then.”

“And he does now?” Ron asked with a snort.

“Guess so,” Harry said, unable to stop the stupid grin that lit his face.

“Harry,” Hermione lectured, “The Eyesight Restorative Draught is terribly complex. Only a few Potions Masters in the _world_ can brew it successfully. You should be very grateful.”

“I am, Hermione,” Harry promised. “I thanked Snape profusely. And I will continue to do so. I’ll thank him every time he knocks me on my arse in class and I _don’t_ have to worry about broken glasses. All right? Now, _please_ , I have _no_ idea what to wear.”

“Don’t look at me, Har’,” Ron said, holding up his hands to shield himself from his best friend. “Ginny made my outfit.”

Harry turned pleading eyes back on Hermione. He batted his eyelashes a few times for good measure. “All right,” she said, giggling, “I’ll help. Just stop _looking_ at me.”

“Thanks, ‘Mione.” Harry placed a loud kiss on her cheek as he crushed her into a hug.

“Get off!” she laughed, playfully pushing at him.

“Why’s Potter pawing at you?” Daphne asked as she walked up to the Trio. Ron snickered at the alliteration. 

“I agreed to help him with his costume.”

Daphne’s eyes lit up. She grabbed Harry’s arm and started pulling him toward the stairs to the boys’ rooms. “Blaise! Draco!” she called. “We need your help!” Everyone looked at Daphne and the Boy-who-Lived, who was stumbling up the steps behind her. “We’re giving Potter a make-over.”

Both the boys slammed their books closed and scrambled for the stairs.

“What the hell, Greengrass?” Harry asked, only mildly annoyed.

Daphne laughed. “There wasn’t a snake in Slytherin that wouldn’t have jumped at the chance to fix you up properly when we were in school.”

“Merlin, you should’ve heard Pansy go on about it,” Draco said with a smirk. “I swear, if that witch had ever seen you out of those rags you used to wear she’d never have tried to hand you over to the Dark Lord.”

“Um,” Harry blushed brightly, causing all three Slytherins to snicker.

“Not what I meant, Potter. But probably true. She would’ve been on you in a pixie’s heartbeat.”

“Be glad you missed the opportunity.” Blaise smirked. “She wasn’t all that good considering the experience she had.” He quickly moved away before Daphne could hit him. The witch stretched herself out on Draco’s bed and pulled Hermione down with her. The two shared a secretive smile when all three boys gaped at them.

“First things first,” Daphne announced. “Potter, strip.”

“What!?”

Hermione giggled. “She made me do the same.”

“We have to see what we’re working with.” She grinned evilly. “Don’t worry… _this_ time I have no ulterior motives.”

“This time?” Hermione said archly.

Daphne whispered something to Hermione that caused the Gryffindor witch to turn beet red. 

“Not fair, Greengrass!” Blaise exclaimed. “Share with the class!”

“I said-“ the rest was muffled behind Hermione’s hand. Daphne, though, just kept talking. 

“You know there is _really_ only one way to shut her up,” Blaise said with a lewd grin.

If possible, Hermione blushed even harder. “Fine,” she said laughingly. She removed her hand and kissed Daphne quickly. The Slytherin boys whooped and hollered. Harry just stared at them in shock.

Daphne pulled away slightly. “When I’m done here, Potter, I want you naked.”

“No!” Hermione laughed, pushing Daphne away. “You _don’t_ say something like that while kissing _me_! It’s just-”

“Wrong,” Harry finished with her. The two Gryffindors shared a grimace.

“You two… never?” Zabini asked as he slouched onto his bed.

“Gah!” Harry shuddered. “No offense, ‘Mione.”

“None taken. The feeling is entirely mutual.”

“Huh. I always thought the Gryffindor Trio was, you know, a _Trio_.” The dark-skinned Slytherin waggled his eyebrows at them.

“You are such a pig, Blaise,” Daphne declared. She sat up enough to throw a pillow at her fiancé.

“I’ve heard the same rumor about you three and its not like…” Hermione trailed off as all three Slytherins studiously looked at the walls. “Oh. My. God,” she finished instead. Somehow, she was blushing even more.

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Daphne murmured.

“Is it wrong that I’m jealous?” Hermione whispered.

“Of?”

“Of _you_.” She was a shade of red that shouldn’t exist in nature. “Were they pretty together?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“Gorgeous.”

“Enough,” Draco ordered. Even his ears were pink. “Let’s focus on Potter.”

“Please, let’s not,” Harry pleaded.

Draco ignored him and began circling the Gryffindor, taking his measure. “Daphne, do you still have any hair growth potion?” he asked after a brief inspection.

“I think so. Do you want me to go grab some supplies from my room?”

Draco nodded. Daphne crawled off the bed. Zabini waited until he heard her on the stairs to yell loudly, “Hurry back! We’ll have Potter naked by then!”

Daphne, and half the Common Room, could be heard laughing.

“Sorry,” Hermione mouthed to her friend. Harry gave a resigned shrug.

He undressed down to his boxers and stood there shyly. Daphne came back into the room, juggling several potion vials. She gave a long wolf whistle. “Pansy would’ve had to stand in line to get a piece of you, Potter. Why’d you go hiding that under those boggy clothes all these years?”

Harry gave an embarrassed shrug, not really wanting to go into the Dursleys’ neglect. Luckily, Draco came to the rescue. “Past fashion sense aside, Potter is here now and he needs our help.”

No one in the room missed the grateful look Harry gave his blood brother for fielding the question.

“Where did you get those bruises?” Blaise asked curiously, pointing at Harry’s arms and ribs.

Harry gave a one-armed shrug, keeping the other modestly wrapped around his chest. “I duel Snape several times a week,” he answered nonchalantly.

“May I?” Draco asked, gesturing toward Harry’s side. When Harry consented, he laid his palm over the largest of the purple/green bruises and chanted softly under his breath. “The ribs aren’t broken,” he said eventually. “But… _Salazar_! Don’t they hurt when you breathe?”

“It’s not too bad. I’ve had worse.”

Draco’s eyes flashed angrily while Hermione moued sadly. Blaise and Daphne shared a glance. They were beginning to realize the Golden Boy hadn’t lived in a gilded cage.

Draco quietly cast a spell and the bruises faded significantly. “Don’t be a martyr, Potter,” he said with a sneer that fell flat. “Let me know if Severus roughs you up again.”

Harry snorted. “I’ll talk to you next week, then. Your Godfather is ruthless in a duel.”

Draco smiled proudly. “Of course he is.”

“Are you going to let me get dressed or are you just going to keep grabbing at me all day?”

Draco snatched his hand from Harry’s ribs as though burnt. Harry snickered.

“What about the suit you wore to your mother’s last wedding?” Daphne suggested to Blaise, much to Harry’s relief.

Zabini nodded thoughtfully before getting up to rummage in his wardrobe. He haphazardly tossed clothes out to Harry. When he crawled out of the magically enlarged piece of furniture, he slouched over to Draco’s bed instead of his own. Daphne was forced to scoot closer to Hermione to make room for him.

Harry put on the three piece suit and stood there awkwardly.

“You look like you itch,” Hermione said with amusement.

“He looks like he’s four feet tall,” Draco said, also fighting laughter. “Not that it isn’t more or less accurate, but-”

Harry tore the suit off quickly and tossed it to the floor. He was no longer uncomfortable in his underwear, just happy to not be wearing that suit.

“Draco, what about your green and black dress robes?” Daphne suggested this time.

Malfoy’s wardrobe must’ve been much more organized than Zabini’s. He found the robes in no time at all. Harry rolled his eyes at the outfit. It consisted of black trousers and a vest with a deep green silk shirt. The black robe was lined with the same green and had silver snakes twining around the edges. “I’d look like a pompous git,” he said petulantly.

“I happen to _like_ this outfit, Potter,” Draco argued.

“Probably because you’re a pompous git.”

Blaise did a poor job of disguising a laugh with a cough.

“Harry is more used to casual Muggle clothes,” Hermione pointed out. “He won’t look comfortable in traditional wizarding attire either.”

Blaise and Draco’s eyes both lit up. “Are you thinking what I am?” Draco asked. 

Blaise nodded and gave his friend a conspiratorial smirk. “Do you still have yours?”

“Yeah, but he’d look better in black. Do you still have yours?”

Blaise nodded. “It’ll take me a minute to find it,” he said before disappearing into the wardrobe. He poked his head out a moment later. “Daphne,” he added, “Go ahead and fix his hair and make-up while I look.”

“My _make-up_!?” Harry exclaimed. He looked completely horrified at the idea. Hermione stifled her giggles. Draco didn’t bother.

“Don’t worry,” he laughed. “Daphne won’t make you look like a ponce.” He made an exaggerated face of consideration. “Though Princess Potter does have a nice ring to it.”

Harry growled. “Shut it, Malfoy. I-”

Whatever he was going to say was stopped by Daphne shoving a potion vial under his nose. He wrinkled the appendage at the smell.

“Drink,” Daphne ordered.

“What is it?”

“Something to make that mop you call hair more manageable,” Draco sneered.

Harry looked at both of them and the bottle skeptically. “You aren’t going to turn me into Rapunzel, are you?”

“Just drink it, you prat.”

Harry glared at Malfoy before turning his gaze back to the bottle Daphne was wafting in front of his face. He continued to stare at it uncertainly. 

Hermione sighed. She should’ve known Harry would be difficult. “Snape brewed it,” she lied.

The Slytherins blinked in confusion when Harry immediately accepted the vial and downed the potion. “That worked?” Daphne asked incredulously.

“I trust Snape’s potions,” Harry said nonchalantly.

“Didn’t he give you _poison_?” Draco pointed out with a smirk.

Hermione gasped. “He didn’t!?”

“No, he didn’t,” Harry replied, glaring at Draco for mentioning it. “He just said he did.”

Draco roared with laughter. “It was brilliant! Apparently, Severus fed him a placebo. Told him it was poison. It did have Ephedra and Kava Kava in it.”

“That would cause-“

“Increased heart rate, drowsiness, and loss of balance, yeah. It mimicked the onset of poison,” Draco said happily.

“Why?!” Hermione questioned, rather indignant.

It was, unfortunately, the question Harry didn’t want her to ask. Almost all of his Dark Arts lessons had been theoretical, since they couldn’t determine the state of his core. However, Snape had wanted to test Harry’s intrinsic abilities in several areas because he had, in the past, instinctively used the Dark Arts. He’d given Harry two plants. One had been completely dead and the other was thriving. He taught Harry a spell that would kill the live plant and transfer that energy into the other, making it bloom. Harry, of course, had failed utterly trying to cast it as he didn’t _want_ to kill the plant. Then, Snape handed him a potion and told him it would help him cast it easier. Naively, Harry drank it. Snape informed him it was poison, and that the dead plant’s blooms were the only antidote. He’d then left the room. Of course, Harry hadn’t believed Snape would _poison_ him. It wasn’t until his vision had started to blur, he’d gotten dizzy, and his heart began pounding that he decided yeah, his Mentor had poisoned him. He’d correctly cast the spell on his first try. Only afterwards had Snape admitted there was nothing harmful in the potion; only herbs whose side effects would mimic poison. Harry, he pointed out, seemed to naturally use Dark Arts when in danger. Most likely a side effect of so many years with Voldemort and Death Eaters after him. When Harry felt threatened, his magic reached out for those best suited to protect him, the Dark Arts.

Of course, Harry didn’t feel like explaining all this to Hermione, especially not in front of Daphne. So, instead, he just shrugged. “It was a test to see if I could acquire the ‘antidote’ I needed,” he explained vaguely. His friend did not look too reassured.

Luckily, any further questions the witch had about Harry’s lesson were waylaid by Blaise emerging from his dresser. “Nice,” he said, looking at Harry’s now shoulder-length hair. “You still have the ‘ _I just got shagged_ ’ look without the additional ‘ _in the middle of a lightning storm_.’”

“Thanks, Zabini,” Harry said dryly before noticing what the Slytherin held. “What the fuck is that!?”

“Oh!” Daphne exclaimed. “Is that _the_ outfit?” Blaise nodded. His fiancé squealed.

“Summer after Fifth Year, Mother sent me to Paris,” Draco explained, taking the garments from his friend. “I think it was her way of trying to keep my mind off what was happening.”

“She coordinated it with my mother,” Blaise continued. “Maman had just gotten married again, and was about to go on her honeymoon, so she sent me to Paris with him.”

“Blaise developed the hots for a Muggle,” Daphne snickered. “They spent two weeks trolling Muggle nightclubs while Blaise tried to score. I don’t think you ever were successful, were you dear?” she added with a smirk.

Blaise leered. “Not with her.”

Daphne made a disgusted noise deep in her throat. “Apparently,” she continued after glaring at Blaise, “They drank too much Firewhiskey and ended up in a bar for same sex couples.”

“Daphne,” Draco snarled in warning.

“They were wearing matching outfits-”

“And that is all you need to know,” Blaise interrupted hopefully.

Daphne, of course, ignored him. “Some rich Muggle saw them and took a shine to both of them. He offered them a _lot_ of money to be his escorts for the weekend.”

“Ferdinand was a perfect gentleman the entire time,” Draco declared. His blush, though, belied his words.

“You didn’t!?” Harry said, both amused and scandalized.

“Of course he did, Potter,” Blaise snorted. “Ferdy could get into all the best clubs _and_ he was loaded.”

“He _paid_ you!?”

“I refused to take the money,” Draco said haughtily.

“I didn’t,” Blaise smirked.

“Oh. My. God,” Hermione muttered again.

“That’s so not fair,” Harry mumbled, grabbing the clothes from Draco. “Why didn’t I have so many opportunities to get laid when we were still in school?”

“You’re a Gryffindor,” Blaise said immediately.

“Who had horrible taste in clothes,” Daphne added.

Draco sneered. “And your friends were all prudes.”

“Hey!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Oops. What I _meant_ to say was that you were too busy saving the world.”

“Much better,” Hermione announced with a giggle. “Besides… summer after Fifth Year I was in Bulgaria, busy _not_ being a prude.”

Harry gaped at his best friend. “‘Mione! You said you didn’t!”

“I lied,” she admitted. “Ron would’ve _flipped_. You _know_ how weird he was about Viktor.”

“You shagged Krum!?” Blaise asked, jaw slack and eyes wide.

“I think you might be my new idol.” Daphne grinned. “All the Slytherin girls tried to score with Krum while he was here.”

“Not just the girls,” Blaise added with a pointed glance at Malfoy.

“I admired his athleticism,” Draco said. He tried for flippant, but it was ruined by his blush.

“Admired it in the locker room,” Daphne snickered. She moved back to the bed and flopped down next to Hermione again. “I can’t believe you pulled Krum,” she said proudly, giving Hermione a quick kiss. “He was on Witch Weekly’s most edible bachelors list three years running.”

“Eligible bachelors,” Blaise corrected.

Daphne blinked at him innocently. “Isn’t that what I said?”

“Harry’s been on the list since he turned seventeen,” Hermione pointed out, much to her friend’s chagrin.

“Shut it,” he muttered, glaring at the leather trousers he was holding. “How do I wear pants with these?” he asked curiously.

“You don’t,” Draco and Blaise answered at the same time.

“I don’t think-“

“Just put them on, Potter,” Draco said impatiently.

Harry blushed _again_ and turned around. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers before stopping. “Don’t look,” he ordered Hermione.

“I’ll keep her busy,” Daphne promised, kissing the Gryffindor witch soundly.

“I’ll be watching them,” Blaise said smugly.

“I’ve already seen it all.” Even the smacking sound of lips stopped at Draco’s announcement. “Gods!” the Slytherin exclaimed. “Not like _that_. I _lived_ with him! Do you know how many times I caught him wanking!?”

“Just the once,” Harry said defensively.

“That you know of.”

“Why is it _you_ aren’t going to the ball with Potter?” Blaise asked, obviously amused. “What with your _mutual_ obsession and all. Besides, your dates are currently snogging each other.”

Gathering his courage, Harry stripped off his boxers and stepped into the leather trousers. “Malfoy’s not my type,” he said curtly as he pulled the skin tight slacks up his legs.

“Potter prefers his Death Eaters tall, dark, and snarky,” Draco laughed.

Harry rounded on him. “How many times do I have to tell you!? I’m not shagging Snape!”

“Didn’t say you were. I said you _want_ to.”

Harry spluttered indignantly, trying to formulate a response.

“Something you want to tell me, Harry?” Hermione asked from the bed.

Harry turned around and glared at his best friend. Hermione sounded far too amused for his liking. He ran his hands into his hair in frustration, the added length making the gesture feel strange. “I fell asleep studying,” he explained, staring at the ceiling. “Malfoy caught me sneaking into the dorms. He said I looked shagged out.”

“Almost as much as right now,” Draco added. 

Harry suddenly remember what he was wearing and looked down at himself with an embarrassed ‘ _eep_.’ The leather trousers were too long, since Zabini was quite a bit taller than him, but Harry was rather more muscular. They were skin tight on his thighs and only slightly looser at the calf to allow for boots. If that wasn’t bad enough there was a two inch gap, running up the outside seam of each leg, that was bare accept for lacings that held the pants together. They rode low on his hips, partially because they were still unbuttoned and the zip wasn’t fully closed. Blushing, Harry quickly fastened the trousers and grabbed the gauzy white shirt from Draco. It felt flimsy as he slipped it on, and Harry had no doubt it was probably see through. The sleeves were intentionally long, spilling ruffles over his knuckles. The front laced from mid-chest to throat with a black satin ribbon. Blaise slapped his hand away, though, when he tried to tie it.

“Hold your sleeves,” Draco ordered. Harry didn’t know what he meant until Draco held up a long velvet frock coat. Harry held the ruffles of the shirt so they didn’t bunch as he slipped it on. Draco then pushed Harry into a chair and began tying boots onto his feet as if Harry were a toddler unable to dress himself.

“Head up,” Zabini demanded. Harry started to obey, but his breath caught when he saw what Blaise was holding. It startled him enough that he let out an involuntary gasp of pain.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said softly. She untangled herself from Daphne and moved quickly to her friend. Draco moved out of the way, allowing her to kneel at Harry’s feet.

“It looks just like his,” Harry whispered.

“I know,” Hermione said gently, taking the leather dog collar from Zabini.

“He used to call me his pup,” Harry said, touching the leather band. “Moony would argue with him because I was his cub. Mum yelled at them both and said I was a Pronglet.”

Hermione smiled at the story, though the sadness in her friend’s voice broke her heart. “When?”

“When I was first born. Sirius told me about it that Christmas we spent with him.”

Hermione raised herself off her heels and fastened the collar around his throat. She looked at him, unable to keep the tears pooling in her eyes at bay. “It suits you,” she said quietly. “I think Sirius would be happy you are wearing one. He’s probably wagging his tail and everything.”

Harry tried to laugh; it sounded more like a sob. Hermione pulled him into a hug. “Let it out,” she murmured. “Or else you’ll tear up after Daphne does your make-up and you _don’t_ want to make her mad.” Harry gave a suspiciously watery sounding chuckle. Hermione continued to rock him soothingly.

“What’s that about?” Zabini asked Draco softly. The Slytherin Prince had moved across the room to give them privacy, but he continued to watch as his blood brother broke down.

“Potter’s godfather was an Animagus,” Draco explained, not looking away from the two Gryffindors. “He was a big black shaggy dog. Supposedly, he looked a bit like a Grim. According to Mother, Sirius started wearing a dog collar once he achieved his full transformation. He was only fifteen at the time. Aunt Bella killed him during our Fifth Year, in the battle that got Father sent to Azkaban.”

“Poor thing,” Daphne said. She was also watching the Gryffindor sadly.

Eventually, Harry pulled himself together. He gave the Slytherins an embarrassed smile. “Sorry about that.”

“Think nothing of it,” Daphne said firmly as she moved across the room to join the seated pair. “But if you do it again and mess up your make-up, I’ll hex you.”

Harry’s bark of laughter was genuine this time.

*******


End file.
